ElUiStratcti  Cabinet  Etiition 


A   Simpleton 


A  Story  of  the  Day 


By 


Charles  Reade,  ,D, C  L. 

^  .■'.'Ml'  '      '       . 


Boston 
Dana  Estes  &  Company 

Publishers 


PREFACE. 


It  lias  lately  been  objected  to  me,  in  stndiously  court- 
eous terms  of  course,  that  I  borrow  from  other  books, 
and  am  a  plagiarist.  To  tbis  I  reply  tbat  I  borrow  facts 
from  every  accessible  soui'ce,  and  am  not  a  plagiarist. 
The  plagiarist  is  one  who  borrows  from  a  homogeneous 
work :  for  such  a  man  borrows  not  ideas  only,  but  their 
treatment.  He  who  borrows  only  from  heterogeneous 
works  is  not  a  plagiarist.  All  fiction,  worth  a  button,  is 
founded  on  facts;  and  it  does  not  matter  one  straw 
whether  the  facts  are  taken  from  personal  experience, 
hearsay,  or  printed  books  ;  only  those  books  must  not  be 
works  of  fiction. 

Ask  your  common  sense  why  a  man  writes  better  fic- 
tion at  forty  than  he  can  at  twenty.  It  is  simply  because 
he  has  gathered  more  facts  from  each  of  these  three 
sources,  —  experience,  hearsay,  print. 

To  those  who  have  science  enough  to  appreciate  the 
above  distinction,  I  am  very  willing  to  admit  that  in  all 
my  tales  I  use  a  vast  deal  of  heterogeneous  material, 
which  in  a  life  of  study  I  have  gathered  from  men, 
journals,  blue-books,  histories,  biographies,  law  reports, 
etc.     And  if   I  could,  I  would   gladly   specify  all   the 


4  PREFACE. 

various  printed  sources  to  wliicli  I  am  indebted.  But 
my  memory  is  not  equal  to  sucli  a  feat.  I  can  only  say 
that  I  rarely  write  a  novel  without  milking  about  two 
hundred  heterogeneous  cows  into  my  pail,  and  that  "  A 
Simpleton  "  is  no  exception  to  my  general  method ;  that 
method  is  the  true  method,  and  the  best,  and  if  on  that 
method  I  do  not  write  prime  novels,  it  is  the  fault  of  tlie 
man,  and  not  of  the  method. 

I  give  the  following  particulars  as  an  illustration  of 
my  method : 

In  "A  Simpleton,"  the  whole  business  of  the  girl 
spitting  blood,  the  surgeon  ascribing  it  to  the  liver,  the 
consultation,  the  final  solution  of  the  mystery,  is  a 
matter  of  personal  experience  accurately  recorded.  But 
the  rest  of  the  medical  truths,  both  fact  and  argument, 
are  all  from  medical  books  far  too  numerous  to  sx^ecify. 
This  includes  the  strange  fluctuations  of  memory  in  a 
man  recovering  his  reason  by  degrees.  The  behavior  of 
the  doctor's  first  two  patients  I  had  from  a  surgeon's 
daughter  in  Pimlico.  The  servant-girl  and  her  box  ;  the 
purple-faced,  pig-faced  Beak  and  his  justice,  are  personal 
experience.  The  business  of  house-renting,  and  the 
auction-room,  is  also  personal  experience. 

In  the  nautical  business  I  had  the  assistance  of  two 
practical  seamen :  my  brother,  William  Barrington  Reade, 
and  Commander  Charles  Edward  Reade,  R.N. 

In  the  South  African  business  I  gleaned  from  Mr. 
Day's  recent  handbooks;  the  old  handbooks;  Galton's 
"Vacation  Tourist;"  "Philip  Mavor ;  or,  Life  among 
theCaffres;"  "Fossor;"  "Notes  on  the  Cape  of  Good 
Hope,"  1821 ;  "  Scenes  and  Occurrences  in  Albany  and 


PKEFACB.  5 

Caffre-land,"  1827 ;  Bowler's  "  South  African  Sketches  j " 
"  A  Campaign  in  South  Africa,"  Lucas ;  "  Five  Years  in 
Caff  re-land,"  Mrs.  Ward ;  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  But  my  principal 
obligation  on  this  head  is  to  Mr.  Boyle,  the  author  of 
some  admirable  letters  to  the  Daily  Telegrajih,  which  he 
afterwards  reprinted  in  a  delightful  volume.  Mr.  Boyle 
has  a  painter's  eye,  and  a  writer's  pen,  and  if  the  A.iv\- 
can  scenes  in  '•  A  Simpleton  "  please  my  readers,  I  hope 
they  will  go  to  the  fountain-head,  where  they  will  find 
many  more. 

As  to  the  ]3lot  and  characters,  they  are  invented. 

The  title,  "  A  Simpleton,"  is  not  quite  new.  There  is 
a  French  play  called  La  Niaise.  But  La  Niaise  is  in 
reality  a  woman  of  rare  intelligence,  Avho  is  tak'en  for  a 
simpleton  by  a  lot  of  conceited  fools,  and  the  play  runs 
on  their  blunders,  and  her  unpretending  wisdom.  That 
is  a  very  fine  plot,  which  I  recommend  to  our  female 
novelists.  My  aim  in  these  pages  has  been  much 
hiunbler,  and  is,  I  hope,  too  clear  to  need  explanation. 

CHAELES  KEADE. 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

A    SIMPLETON. 

PAGE 

''He  Gently  Detained  the  Hand"'  •      Frontispiece 

'"So  IT  IS  A  Lady  this  Time"" 60 

'•Laid  her  Gently  on  the  Floor"  .  •  -^95 
"An  Incongruous  Picture  Met  his  Eye"  .  .  -'71 
"Saav  the  Lion  in  the  Air" 3G2 


A  SIMPLETON 


CHAPTER   I. 


A  YOUNG  lady  sat  pricking  a  framed  canvas  in  the 
drawing-room  of  Kent  Villa,  a  mile  from  Gravesend; 
she  was  making,  at  a  cost  of  time  and  tinted  wool,  a 
chair  cover,  admirably  unfit  to  be  sat  upon  —  except  by 
some  severe  artist,  bent  on  obliterating  discordant  colors. 
To  do  her  justice,  her  mind  was  not  in  her  work ;  for  she 
rustled  softly  with  restlessness  as  she  sat,  and  she  rose 
three  times  in  twenty  minutes,  and  went  to  the  window. 
Thence  she  looked  down,  over  a  trim  flowery  lawn,  and 
long,  sloping  meadows,  on  to  the  silver  Thames,  alive 
with  steamboats  ploughing,  white  sails  bellying,  and 
great  ships  carrying  to  and  fro  the  treasures  of  the  globe. 
From  this  fair  landscape  and  ex)itome  of  commerce  she 
retired  each  time  with  listless  disdain ;  she  was  waiting 
for  somebody. 

Yet  she  was  one  of  those  whom  few  men  care  to  keep 
waiting.  Rosa  Lusignan  was  a  dark  but  dazzling  beauty, 
with  coal-black  hair,  and  glorious  dark  eyes,  that  seemed 
to  beam  with  soul  all  day  long;  her  eyebrows,  black, 
straightish,  and  rather  thick,  would  have  been  majestic 
and  too  severe,  had  the  other  features  followed  suit ;  but 
her  black  brows  were  succeeded  by  long  silky  lashes,  a 
sweet  oval  face,  two  pouting  lips  studded  with  ivory,  and 


8  A   SIMPLETON. 

an  exquisite  chin,  as  feeble  as  any  man  could  desire  in 
the  partner  of  his  bosom.  Person  —  straight,  elastic, 
and  rather  tall.  Mind — nineteen.  Accomplishments  — 
numerous ;  a  poor  French  scholar,  a  worse  German,  a 
worse  English,  an  admirable  dancer,  an  inaccurate  musi- 
cian, a  good  rider,  a  bad  draughtswoman,  a  bad  hair- 
dresser, at  the  mercy  of  her  maid;  a  hot  theologian, 
knowing  nothing,  a  sorry  accountant,  no  housekeeper,  no 
seamstress,  a  fair  embroideress,  a  capital  geographer,  and 
no  cook. 

Collectively,  viz.,  mind  and  body,  the  girl  we  kneel  to. 

This  ornamental  member  of  society  now  glanced  at  the 
clock  once  more,  and  then  glided  to  the  window  for  the 
fourth  time.  She  peeped  at  the  side  a  good  while,  with 
superfluous  slyness  or  shyness,  and  presently  she  drew 
back,  blushing  crimson;  then  she  peeped  again,  still 
more  furtively ;  then  retired  softly  to  her  frame,  and, 
for  the  first  time,  set  to  work  in  earnest.  As  she  plied 
her  harpoon,  smiling  now,  the  large  and  vivid  blush, 
that  had  suffused  her  face  and  throat,  turned  from  car- 
nation to  rose,  and  melted  away  slowly,  but  perceptibly, 
and  ever  so  sweetly;  and  somebody  knocked  at  the 
street  door. 

The  blow  seemed  to  drive  her  deeper  into  her  work. 
She  leaned  over  it,  graceful  as  a  willow,  and  so  absorbed, 
she  could  not  even  see  the  door  of  the  room  open  and 
Dr.  Staines  come  in. 

All  the  better :  her  not  perceiving  that  slight  addition 
to  her  furniture  gives  me  a  moment  to  describe  him. 

A  young  man,  five  feet  eleven  inches  high,  very  square 
shouldered  and  deep  chested,  but  so  symmetrical,  and 
light  in  his  movements,  that  his  size  hardly  struck  one 
at  first.  He  was  smooth  shaved,  all  but  a  short,  thick, 
auburn  whisker ;  his  hair  was  brown.  His  features  no 
more  then  comely:  the  brow  full,  the  eyes  wide  apart 


A  SEVIPLETON.  9 

and  deep-seated,  the  lips  rather  thin,  but  expressive,  the 
chin  solid  and  square.  It  was  a  face  of  power,  and 
capable  of  harshness ;  but  relieved  by  an  eye  of  unusual 
color,  between  hazel  and  gray,  and  wonderfully  tender. 
In  complexion  he  could  not  compare  with  Rosa;  his 
cheek  was  clear,  but  pale;  for  few  young  men  had 
studied  night  and  day  so  constantly.  Though  but 
twenty-eight  years  of  age,  he  was  literally  a  learned 
physician ;  deep  in  hospital  practice ;  deep  in  books  ; 
especially  deep  in  German  science,  too  often  neglected 
or  skimmed  by  English  physicians.  He  had  delivered  a 
course  of  lectures  at  a  learned  university  with  general 
applause. 

As  my  reader  has  divined,  Eosa  was  preparing  the 
comedy  of  a  cool  reception ;  but  looking  up,  she  saw  his 
pale  cheek  tinted  with  a  lover's  beautiful  joy  at  the 
bare  sight  of  her,  and  his  soft  eye  so  divine  with  love, 
that  she  had  not  the  heart  to  chill  him.  She  gave  him 
her  hand  kindly,  and  smiled  brightly  on  him  instead  of 
remonstrating.  She  lost  nothing  by  it,  for  the  very  first 
thing  he  did  was  to  excuse  himself  eagerly.  ''I  am 
behind  time :  the  fact  is,  just  as  I  was  mounting  my 
horse,  a  poor  man  came  to  the  gate  to  consult  me.  He 
had  a  terrible  disorder  I  have  sometimes  succeeded  in 
arresting  —  I  attack  the  cause  instead  of  the  symptoms, 
which  is  the  old  practice — and  so  that  detained  me. 
You  forgive  me  ?  " 

<'  Of  course.  Poor  man  !  —  only  you  said  you  wanted 
to  see  papa,  and  he  always  goes  out  at  two." 

\Mien  she  had  been  betrayed  into  saying  this,  she  drew 
in  suddenly,  and  blushed  with  a  pretty  consciousness. 

"  Then  don't  let  me  lose  another  minute,'^  said  the 
lover.  "Have  you  prepared  him  for — for  —  what  I 
am  going  to  have  the  audacity  to  say  ? " 

Rosa  answered,  with  some  hesitation,  "  I  must  have  — 


10  A   SIMPLETON. 

a  little.     When  I  refused  Colonel  Bright  —  you  need  not 
devour  my  hand  quite  —  he  is  forty." 

Her  sentence  ended,  and  away  went  the  original  toi^ic, 
and  grammatical  sequence  along  with  it.  Christopher 
Staines  recaptured  them  both.  "Yes,  dear,  when  you 
refused  Colonel  Bright"  — 

"  Well,  papa  was  astonished ;  for  everybody  says  the 
colonel  is  a  most  eligible  match.  Don't  you  hate  that 
expression  ?     I  do.     Eligible  ! " 

Christopher  made  due  haste,  and  reca^ptured  her. 
"Yes,  love,  your  papa  said"  — 

"I  don't  think  I  will  tell  you.  He  asked  me  was  there 
anybody  else ;  and  of  course  I  said  ^  No.' " 

"  Oh ! " 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing ;  I  had  not  time  to  make  up  my 
mind  to  tell  the  truth.  I  was  taken  by  surprise ;  and 
you  know  one's  first  impulse  is  to  fib  —  about  that.''^ 

"  But  did  you  really  deceive  him  ?  " 

"  No,  I  blushed ;  and  he  caught  me  j  so  he  said,  '  Come, 
now,  there  was. ' " 

"  And  you  said,  ^  Yes,  there  is,'  like  a  brave  girl  as 
you  are." 

"  What,  plump  like  that  ?  No,  I  was  frightened  out 
of  my  wits,  like  a  brave  girl  as  I  am  not,  and  said  I 
should  never  marry  any  one  he  could  disapprove;  and 
then  —  oh,  then  I  believe  I  began  to  cry.  Christopher, 
I'll  tell  you  something ;  I  find  people  leave  off  teasing 
you  when  you  cry  —  gentlemen,  I  mean.  Ladies  go  on 
all  the  more.  So  then  dear  papa  kissed  me,  and  told  me 
I  must  not  be  imprudent,  and  throw  myself  away,  that 
was  all ;  and  I  promised  him  I  never  would.  I  said  he 
would  be  sure  to  approve  my  choice;  and  he  said  he 
hoped  so.     And  so  he  will." 

Dr.  Staines  looked  thoughtful,  and  said  he  hoped  so 
too.  "But  now  it  comes  to  the  point  of  asking  him  for 
such  a  treasure,  I  feel  my  deficiencies." 


A   SIMPLETON.  11 

"  Why,  what  deficiencies  ?  You  are  young,  and  hand- 
some, and  good,  and  ever  so  much  cleverer  than  other 
people.  You  have  only  to  ask  for  me,  and  insist  on 
having  me.  Come,  dear,  go  and  get  it  over.'^  She 
added,  mighty  coolly,  "  There  is  nothing  so  dreadful  as 
suspense." 

"  I'll  go  this  minute,"  said  he,  and  took  a  step  towards 
the  door;  but  he  turned,  and  in  a  moment  was  at  her 
knees.  He  took  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  pressed  them 
to  his  beating  bosom,  while  his  beautiful  eyes  poured 
love  into  hers  point-blank.  "  May  I  tell  him  you  love 
me  ?  Oh,  I  know  you  cannot  love  me  as  I  love  you ;  but 
I  may  say  you  love  me  a  little,  may  I  not  ?  —  that  will 
go  farther  with  him  than  anything  else.  May  I,  Rosa, 
may  I?— a  little?" 

His  passion  mastered  her.  She  dropped  her  head 
sweetly  on  his  shoulder,  and  murmured,  "  You  know  you 
may,  my  own.     Who  would  not  love  you  ?  " 

He  parted  lingeringly  from  her,  then  marched  away, 
bold  with  love  and  hope,  to  demand  her  hand  in 
marriage. 

Kosa  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  quivered  a  little 
with  new  emotions.  Christopher  was  right ;  she  was  not 
capable  of  loving  like  him ;  but  still  the  actual  contact 
of  so  strong  a  passion  made  her  woman's  nature  vibrate. 
A  dewy  tear  hung  on  the  fringes  of  her  long  lashes,  and 
she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  fluttered  awhile. 

That  emotion,  almost  new  to  her,  soon  yielded,  in  her 
girlish  mind,  to  a  complacent  languor ;  and  that,  in  its 
turn,  to  a  soft  reverie.  So  she  Avas  going  to  be  married ! 
To  be  mistress  of  a  house ;  settle  in  London  {that  she 
had  quite  determined  long  ago) ;  be  able  to  go  out  into 
the  streets  all  alone,  to  shop,  or  visit ;  have  a  gentleman 
all  her  own,  whom  she  could  put  her  finger  on  any 
moment   and  make  him  take   her  about,   even   to   the 


12  A  SIMPLETON. 

opera  and  the  theatre ;  to  give  dinner-parties  her  own 
self,  and  even  a  little  ball  once  in  a  way ;  to  buy  what- 
ever dresses  she  thought  proper,  instead  of  being  crippled 
by  an  allowance ;  have  the  legal  right  of  speaking  first 
in  society,  even  to  gentlemen  rich  in  ideas  but  bad 
starters,  instead  of  sitting  mumchance  and  mock-modest ; 
to  be  Mistress,  instead  of  Miss  —  contemptible  title ;  to 
be  a  woman,  instead  of  a  girl ;  and  all  this  rational 
liberty,  domestic  power,  and  social  dignity  were  to  be 
obtained  by  merely  wedding  a  dear  fellow,  who  loved 
her,  and  was  so  nice ;  and  the  bright  career  to  be 
ushered  in  with  several  delights,  each  of  them  dear  to 
a  girl's  very  soul :  presents  from  all  her  friends  ;  as  many 
beautiful  new  dresses  as  if  she  Avas  changing  her  body  or 
her  hemisphere,  instead  of  her  name;  eclat;  going  to 
church,  which  is  a  good  English  girl's  theatre  of  display 
and  temple  of  vanity,  and  there  tasting  delightful  pub- 
licity and  whispered  admiration,  in  a  heavenly  long  veil, 
which  she  could  not  wear  even  once  if  she  remained 
single. 

This  bright  variegated  picture  of  holy  wedlock,  and 
its  essential  features,  as  revealed  to  young  ladies  by 
feminine  tradition,  though  not  enumerated  in  the  Book 
of  Common  Prayer  writ  by  grim  males,  so  entranced  her, 
that  time  flew  by  unheeded,  and  Christopher  Staines 
came  back  from  her  father.  His  step  was  heavy;  he 
looked  pale,  and  deeply  distressed ;  then  stood  like  a 
statue,  and  did  not  come  close  to  her,  but  cast  a  piteous 
look,  and  gasped  out  one  word,  that  seemed  almost  to 
choke  him,  —  "  Refused  !  " 

Miss  Lusignan  rose  from  her  chair,  and  looked  almost 
wildly  at  him  with  her  great  eyes.  "  Eefused  ?  "  said 
she,  faintly. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  sadly.  "Your  father  is  a  man  of 
business ;  and  he  took  a  mere  business  view  of  our  love ; 


A  SIMPLETON.  13 

he  asked  me  directly  what  provision  I  coiihl  make  for 
his  daughter  and  her  children.  Well,  I  told  him  I  had 
three  thousand  pounds  in  the  Funds,  and  a  good  profes- 
sion; and  then  I  said  I  had  youth,  health,  and  love, 
boundless  love,  the  love  that  can  do,  or  suffer,  the  love 
that  can  conquer  the  world.'' 

"Dear  Christopher!  And  what  could  he  say  to  all 
that  ?  " 

"He  ignored  it  entirely.  There!  I'll  give  you  his 
very  words.  He  said,  '  In  that  case.  Dr.  Staines,  the 
simple  question  is,  what  does  your  profession  bring  you 
in  per  annum  ?  '  " 

"  Oh  !  There  !  I  always  hated  arithmetic,  and  now  I 
abominate  it." 

"  Then  I  was  obliged  to  confess  I  had  scarcely  received 
a  hundred  pounds  in  fees  this  year ;  but  I  told  him  the 
reason ;  this  is  such  a  small  district,  and  all  the  groimd 
occupied.     London,  I  said,  was  my  sphere." 

"And  so  it  is,"  said  Kosa,  eagerly;  for  this  jumped 
with  her  own  little  designs.  "  Genius  is  wasted  in  the 
country.  Besides,  whenever  anybody  worth  curing  is  iU 
down  here,  they  always  send  to  London  for  a  doctor." 

"  I  told  him  so,  dearest,"  said  the  lover.  "  But  he  an- 
swered me  directly,  then  I  mnst  set  up  in  London,  and 
as  soon  as  my  books  showed  an  income  to  keep  a  wife, 
and  servants,  and  children,  and  insure  my  life  for  five 
thousand  pounds  "  — 

"  Oh,  that  is  so  like  papa.  He  is  director  of  an  insur- 
ance company,  so  all  the  world  must  insure  their  lives." 

"  No,  dear,  he  was  quite  right  there :  professional  in- 
comes are  most  precarious.  Death  spares  neither  young 
nor  old,  neither  warm  hearts  nor  cold.  I  should  be  no 
true  physician  if  I  could  not  see  my  own  mortality." 
He  hung  his  head  and  pondered  a  moment,  then  went 
on,  sadly,  "  It  all  comes  to  this  —  until  I  have  a  profes- 


14  A  SIMPLETON. 

sional  income  of  eight  himclrecl  a  year  at  least,  he  will 
not  hear  of  our  marrying ;  and  the  cruel  thing  is,  he  will 
not  even  consent  to  an  engagement.  But,"  said  the 
rejected,  with  a  look  of  sad  anxiety,  "you  will  wait  for 
me  without  that,  dear  Eosa  ?  " 

She  could  give  him  that  comfort,  and  she  gave  it  him 
with  loving  earnestness.  "  Of  course  I  will ;  and  it  shall 
not  be  very  long.  Whilst  you  are  making  your  fortune, 
to  please  papa,  I  will  keep  fretting,  and  pouting,  and 
crying,  till  he  sends  for  you." 

"  Bless  you,  dearest !  Stop  !  -^  not  to  make  yourself 
ill !  not  for  all  the  world."  The  lover  and  the  physician 
spoke  in  turn. 

He  came,  all  gratitude,  to  her  side,  and  they  sat,  hand 
in  hand,  comforting  each  other :  indeed,  parting  was  such 
sweet  sorrow  that  they  sat,  handed,  and  very  close  to 
one  another,  till  Mr.  Lusignan,  who  thought  five  minutes 
quite  enough  for  rational  beings  to  take  leave  in,  Avalked 
into  the  room  and  surprised  them.  At  sight  of  his  gray 
head  and  iron-gray  eyebrows,  Christopher  Staines  started 
up  and  looked  confused ;  he  thought  some  apology  neces- 
sary, so  he  faltered  out,  "  Forgive  me,  sir  j  it  is  a  bitter 
parting  to  me,  you  may  be  sure." 

Eosa's  bosom  heaved  at  these  simple  words.  She  flew 
to  her  father,  and  cried,  "  Oh,  papa !  papa !  you  were 
never  cruel  before ; "  and  hid  her  burning  faoe  on  his 
shoulder ;  and  then  burst  out  crying,  partly  for  Christo- 
pher, partly  because  she  was  now  ashamed  of  herself  for 
having  taken  a  young  man's  part  so  openly. 

Mr.  Lusignan  looked  sadly  discomposed  at  this  out- 
burst :  she  had  taken  him  by  his  weak  point ;  he  told 
her  so.  "Now,  Eosa,"  said  he,  rather  peevishly,  "you 
know  I  hate  —  noise." 

Eosa  had  actually  forgotten  that  trait  for  a  single 
moment  J    but,  being  reminded  of   it,  she  reduced  her 


A   SIMPLETON.  15 

sobs  in  tlie  prettiest  way,  not  to  offend  a  tender  parent 
who  could  not  bear  noise.  Under  this  homely  term,  you 
must  know,  he  included  all  scenes,  disturbances,  rum- 
puses, passions ;  and  expected  all  men,  women,  and 
things  in  Kent  Villa  to  go  smoothly  —  or  go  elsewhere. 

"Come,  young  people,"  said  he,  "don't  make  a  dis- 
turbance. ^There's  the  grievance  ?  Have  I  said  he 
shall  never  marry  you  ?  Have  I  forbidden  him  to  cor- 
respond ?  or  even  to  call,  say  twice  a  year.  All  I  say  is, 
no  marriage,  nor  contract  of  marriage,  until  there  is  an 
income."  Then  he  turned  to  Christojjher.  "Now  if 
you  can't  make  an  income  without  her,  how  could  you 
make  one  with  her,  weighed  down  by  the  load  of  ex- 
penses a  wife  entails  ?  I  know  her  better  than  you  do ; 
she  is  a  good  girl,  but  rather  luxurious  and  self-indulgent. 
She  is  not  cut  out  for  a  poor  man's  wife.  And  j)ray 
don't  go  and  fancy  that  nobody  loves  my  child  but  you. 
Mine  is  not  so  hot  as  yours,  of  course ;  but  believe  me, 
sir,  it  is  less  selfish.  You  would  expose  her  to  poverty 
and  misery ;  but  I  say  no ;  it  is  my  duty  to  protect  her 
from  all  chance  of  them ;  and,  in  doing  it,  I  am  as  much 
your  friend  as  hers,  if  you  could  but  see  it.  Come,  Dr. 
Staines,  be  a  man,  and  see  the  world  as  it  is.  I  have 
told  you  how  to  earn  my  daughter's  hand  and  my 
esteem :  you  must  gain  both,  or  neither." 

Dr.  Staines  was  never  quite  deaf  to  reason:  he  now 
put  his  hand  to  his  brow  and  said,  with  a  sort  of  wonder 
and  pitiful  dismay,  "  My  love  for  Eosa  selfish !  Sir, 
your  words  are  bitter  and  hard."  Then,  after  a  struggle, 
and  with  rare  and  touching  candor,  "  Ay,  but  $iO  are  bark 
and  steel ;  yet  they  are  good  medicines."  Then  with  a 
great  glow  in  his  heart  and  tears  in  his  eyes,  "  My  dar- 
ling shall  not  be  a  poor  man's  wife,  she  who  would 
adorn  a  coronet,  ay,  or  a  crown.  Good-by,  Eosa,  for  the 
present."     He  darted  to  her,  and  kissed  her  hand  with 


16  A   SIMPLETON. 

all  his  soul.  "  Oh,  the  sacrifice  of  leaving  you,"  he  fal- 
tered; 'Hhe  very  world  is  dark  to  me  without  you. 
Ah,  well,  I  must  earn  the  right  to  come  again."  He 
summoned  all  his  manhood,  and  marched  to  the  door. 
There  he  seemed  to  turn  calmer  all  of  a  sudden,  and  said 
firmly,  yet  humbly,  "I'll  try  and  show  you,  sir,  what  love 
can  do." 

"  And  I'll  show  you  what  love  can  suffer,"  said  Eosa, 
folding  her  beautiful  arms  superbly. 

It  was  not  in  her  to  have  shot  such  a  bolt,  except  in 
imitation ;  yet  how  promptly  the  mimic  thunder  came, 
and  how  grand  the  beauty  looked,  with  her  dark  brows, 
and  flashing  eyes,  and  folded  arms  !  much  grander  and 
more  inspired  than  poor  Staines,  who  had  only  furnished 
the  idea. 

But  between  these  two  figures  swelling  with  emotion, 
the  representative  of  common  sense,  Lusignan^^e^-e,  stood 
cool  and  impassive;  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
looked  on  both  lovers  as  a  couple  of  ranting  novices  he 
was  saving  from  each  other  and  almshouses. 

For  all  that,  when  the  lover  had  torn  himself  away, 
papa's  composure  was  suddenly  disturbed  by  a  misgiv- 
ing. He  stepped  hastily  to  the  stairhead,  and  gave  it 
vent.  "  Dr.  Staines,"  said  he,  in  a  loud  whisper  (Staines 
was  half  way  down  the  stairs:  he  stoi^ped).  "I  trust  to 
you  as  a  gentleman,  not  to  mention  this;  it  will  never 
transpire  here.     Whatever  we  do  —  no  noise  ! " 


A  SIMPLETON.  17 


CHAPTER   II. 

Rosa  Lusignan  set  herself  pining  as  she  had  prom- 
ised ;  and  she  did  it  discreetly  for  so  young  a  person. 
She  was  never  peevish,  but  always  sad  and  listless.  By 
this  means  she  did  not  anger  her  parent,  but  only  made 
him  feel  she  was  unhappy,  and  the  house  she  had  hither- 
to brightened  exceeding  dismal. 

By  degrees  this  noiseless  melancholy  imdermined  the 
old  gentleman,  and  he  well-nigh  tottered. 

But  one  day,  calling  suddenly  on  a  neighbor  with  six 
daughters,  he  heard  peals  of  laughter,  and  found  Rosa 
taking  her  full  share  of  the  senseless  mirth.  She  pulled 
up  short  at  sight  of  him,  and  colored  high ;  but  it  was 
too  late,  for  he  launched  a  knowing  look  at  her  on  the 
spot,  and  muttered  something  about  seven  foolish  virgins. 

He  took  the  first  opportunity,  when  they  were  alone, 
and  told  her  he  was  glad  to  find  she  was  only  dismal  at 
home. 

But  Rosa  had  prepared  for  him.  "  One  can  be  loud 
without  being  gay  at  heart,"  said  she,  with  a  lofty, 
languid  air.  "  I  have  not  forgotten  your  last  words  to 
him.  We  were  to  hide  our  broken  hearts  from  the  world. 
I  try  to  obey  you,  dear  papa ;  but,  if  I  had  my  way,  I 
would  never  go  into  the  world  at  all.  I  have  but  one 
desire  now  —  to  end  my  days  in  a  convent." 

"  Please  begin  them  first.  A  convent !  AVhy,  you'd 
turn  it  out  of  window.  You  are  no  more  fit  to  be  a  nun 
than  —  a  pauper." 

Not  having  foreseen  this  facer,  Rosa  had  nothing 
ready ;  so  she  received  it  with  a  sad,  submissive,  hel]_j- 


18  A   SIMPLETON. 

less  sigh,  as  who  wouki  say,  "  Hit  me,  papa :  I  have  no 
friend  now."  So  then  he  was  sorry  he  had  been  so 
clever;  and,  indeed,  there  is  one  provoking  thing  about 
"  a  woman's  weakness  "  —  it  is  invincible. 

The  next  minute,  what  should  come  but  a  long  letter 
from  Dr.  Staines,  detailing  his  endeavors  to  purchase 
a  practice  in  London,  and  his  ill-success.  The  letter 
spoke  the  language  of  love  and  hope ;  but  the  facts  were 
discouraging;  and,  indeed,  a  touching  sadness  pierced 
through  the  veil  of  the  brave  words. 

Rosa  read  it  again  and  again,  and  cried  over  it  before 
her  father,  to  encourage  him  in  his  heartless  behavior. 

About  ten  days  after  this,  something  occurred  that 
altered  her  mood. 

She  became  grave  and  thoughtful,  but  no  longer  lugu- 
brious. She  seemed  desirous  to  atone  to  her  father  for 
having  disturbed  his  cheerfulness.  She  smiled  affection- 
ately on  him,  and  often  sat  on  a  stool  at  his  knee,  and 
glided  her  hand  into  his. 

He  was  not  a  little  pleased,  and  said  to  himself,  "  She 
is  coming  round  to  common-sense." 

Now,  on  the  contrary,  she  was  farther  from  it  than 
ever. 

At  last  he  got  the  clew.  One  afternoon  he  met  ^Ir. 
Wyman  coming  out  of  the  villa.  Mr.  Wyman  was  the 
consulting  surgeon  of  that  part. 

"  What !  anybody  ill  ?  "  said  Mr.  Lusignan.  ^'  One  of 
the  servants  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  is  Miss  Lusignan." 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  her  ?  " 

Wyman  hesitated.  "  Oh,  nothing  very  alarming. 
Would  you  mind  asking  her  ? " 

"Why?" 

"The  fact  is,  she  requested  me  not  to  tell  you:  made 
me  promise." 


A   SIMPLETON.  19 

"  And  I  insist  upon  your  telling  me." 

"  And  I  think  you  are  quite  right,  sir,  as  her  father. 
Well,  she  is  troubled  with  a  little  spitting  of  blood." 

Mr.  Lusignan  turned  pale.  "My  child!  spitting  of 
blood !     God  forbid  ! " 

"  Oh,  do  not  alarm  yourself.     It  is  nothing  serious." 

"  Don't  tell  me ! "  said  the  father.  "  It  is  always 
serious.     A.nd  she  kept  this  from  me  ! " 

Masking  his  agitation  for  the  time,  he  inquired  how 
often  it  had  occurred,  this  grave  symptom. 

"  Three  or  four  times  this  last  month.  But  I  may  as 
well  tell  you  at  once  :  I  have  examined  her  carefully, 
and  I  do  not  think  it  is  from  the  lungs." 

"  From  the  throat,  then  ?  " 

"  No ;  from  the  liver.  Everything  points  to  that 
organ  as  the  seat  of  derangement :  not  that  there  is  any 
lesion ;  only  a  tendency  to  congestion.  I  am  treating 
her  accordingly,  and  have  no  doubt  of  the  result." 

"  Who  is  the  ablest  physician  hereabouts  ?  "  asked 
Lusignan,  abruptly. 

"Dr.  Snell,  I  think." 

"  Give  me  his  address." 

'•  I'll  write  to  him,  if  you  like,  and  appoint  a  consulta- 
tion." He  added,  with  vast  but  rather  sudden  alacrity, 
"  It  will  be  a  great  satisfaction  to  my  own  mind." 

"  Then  send  to  him,  if  you  please,  and  let  him  be  here 
to-morrow  morning ;  if  not,  I  shall  take  her  to  London 
for  advice  at  once." 

On  this  understanding  they  parted,  and  Lusignan  went 
at  once  to  his  daughter.  "  0  my  child ! "  said  he,  deeply 
distressed,  "  how  could  you  hide  this  from  me  ?  " 

"  Hide  what,  papa  ?  "  said  the  girl,  looking  the  picture 
of  unconsciousness. 

"  That  you  have  been  spitting  blood." 

"  W^ho  told  you  that  ?  "  said  she,  sharply. 


20  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Wymaii.     He  is  attending  you." 

Rosa  colored  with  anger.  "  Chatterbox !  He  prom- 
ised me  faithfully  not  to." 

"  But  why,  in  Heaven's  name  ?  What !  would  you 
trust  this  terrible  thing  to  a  stranger,  and  hide  it  from 
your  poor  father  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Eosa,  quietly. 

The  old  man  would  not  scold  her  now ;  he  only  said, 
sadly,  "  I  see  how  it  is :  because  I  will  not  let  you  marry 
poverty,  you  think  I  do  not  love  you."     And  he  sighed. 

"  0  papa  !  the  idea  ! "  said  Eosa.  "  Of  course,  I  know 
you  love  me.  It  was  not  that,  you  dear,  darling,  foolish 
papa.  There !  if  you  must  know,  it  was  because  I  did 
not  want  you  to  be  distressed.  I  thought  I  might  get 
better  with  a  little  physic ;  and,  if  not,  why,  then  I 
thought,  ^  Papa  is  an  old  man ;  la  !  I  dare  say  I  shall  last 
his  time  ; '  and  so,  why  should  I  poison  your  latter  days 
with  worrying  about  tne  ?  " 

Mr.  Lusignan  stared  at  her,  and  his  lip  quivered ;  but 
he  thought  the  trait  hardly  consistent  with  her  super- 
ficial character.  He  could  not  help  saying,  half  sadly, 
half  bitterly,  "Well,  but  of  course  you  have  told  Dr. 
Staines." 

Eosa  opened  her  beautiful  eyes,  like  two  suns.  "  Of 
course  I  have  done  nothing  of  the  sort.  He  has  enough 
to  trouble  him,  without  that.  Poor  fellow !  there  he  is, 
worrying  and  striving  to  make  his  fortune,  and  gain 
your  esteem  —  '■  they  go  together,'  you  know ;  you  told 
him  so."  (Young  cats  will  scratch  when  least  expected.) 
"  And  for  me  to  go  and  tell  him  I  am  in  danger  !  Why, 
he  would  go  wild.  He  would  think  of  nothing  but  me 
and  my  health.  He  would  never  make  his  fortune  :  and 
so  then,  even  when  I  am  gone,  he  Avill  never  get  a  wife, 
because  he  has  only  got  genius  and  goodness  and  three 
thousand  pounds.     No,  papa,  I  have  not  told  poor  Chris- 


A   SIMPLETON.  21 


o 


toplier.     I  may  tease  those  I  love.     I  have  been  tea.siii< 
you  this  ever  so  long  ;  but  frighten  them,  and  make  them 
miserable  ?     No  !  " 

And  here,  tliinking  of  the  anguish  that  was  perhaps 
in  store  for  those  she  loved,  she  wanted  to  cry  ;  it  almost 
choked  her  not  to.  But  she  fought  it  bravely  down :  she 
reserved  her  tears  for  lighter  occasions  and  less  noble 
sentiments. 

Her  father  held  out  his  arms  to  her.  She  ran  her 
footstool  to  him,  and  sat  nestling  to  his  heart. 

"  Please  forgive  me  my  misconduct.  I  have  not  been 
a  dutiful  daughter  ever  since  you — but  now  I  will.  Kiss 
me,  my  own  papa  !  There  !  Now  we  are  as  we  always 
were." 

Then  she  purred  to  him  on  every  possible  topic  but 
the  one  that  now  filled  his  parental  heart,  and  bade  him 
good-night  at  last  with  a  cheerful  smile. 

AVyman  was  exact,  and  ten  minutes  afterwards  Dr. 
Snell  drove  up  in  a  carriage  and  pair.  He  was  inter- 
cepted in  the  hall  by  Wyman,  and,  after  a  few  minutes' 
conversation,  presented  to  Mr.  Lusignan. 

The  father  gave  vent  to  his  paternal  anxiety  in  a  few 
simple  but  touching  words,  and  was  proceeding  to  state 
the  symptoms  as  he  had  gathered  them  from  his  daughter ; 
but  Dr.  Snell  interrupted  him  politely,  and  said  he  had 
heard  the  principal  symptoms  from  Mr.  Wyman.  Then, 
turning  to  the  latter,  he  said,  ^"  We  had  better  proceed  to 
examine  the  patient." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mr.  Lusignan.  "  She  is  in  the 
drawing-room ; "  and  he  led  the  way,  and  was  about  to 
enter  the  room,  when  Wyman  informed  him  it  was  against 
etiquette  for  him  to  be  present  at  the  examination. 

"  Oh,  very  well ! "  said  he.  "  Yes,  I  see  the  propriety 
of  that.  But  oblige  me  by  asking  her  if  she  has  any- 
thing on  her  mind." 


22  A  SIMPLETON. 

Dr.  Snell  bowed  a  lofty  assent ;  for,  to  receive  a  hint 
from  a  layman  was  to  confer  a  favor  on  liim. 

The  men  of  science  were  closeted  full  half  an  houi 
with  the  patient.  She  was  too  beautiful  to  be  slurred 
over,  even  by  a  busy  doctor :  he  felt  her  pulse,  looked  at 
her  tongue,  and  listened  attentively  to  her  lungs,  to  her 
heart,  and  to  the  organ  suspected  by  Wyman.  He  left 
her  at  last  Avith  a  kindly  assurance  that  the  case  was 
perfectly  curable. 

At  the  door  they  were  met  by  the  anxious  father,  who 
came  with  throbbing  heart,  and  asked  the  doctors' 
verdict. 

He  was  coolly  informed  that  could  not  be  given  until 
the  consultation  had  taken  place ;  the  result  of  that 
consultation  would  be  conveyed  to  him. 

"And  pray,  why  can't  1  be  present  at  the  consulta- 
tion ?  The  grounds  on  which  two  able  men  agree  or 
disagree  must  be  well  worth  listening  to." 

"No  doubt,"  said  Dr.  Snell;  "but,"  with  a  superior 
smile,  "  my  dear  sir,  it  is  not  the  etiquette." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  Lusignan.  But  he  muttered, 
"  So,  then,  a  father  is  nobody  ! " 

And  this  unreasonable  person  retired  to  his  study, 
miserable,  and  gave  up  the  dining-room  to  the  consulta- 
tion. 

They  soon  rejoined  him. 

Dr.  Snell's  opinion  was  communicated  by  Wyman. 
"  I  am  happy  to  tell  you  that  Dr.  Snell  agrees  with  me, 
entirely :  the  lungs  are  not  affected,  and  the  liver  is  con- 
gested, but  not  diseased." 

"  Is  that  so,  Dr.  Snell  ?  "  asked  Lusignan,  anxiously. 

"  It  is  so,  sir."  He  added,  "  The  treatment  has  been 
submitted  to  me,  and  I  quite  approve  it." 

He  then  asked  for  a  pen  and  paper,  and  wrote  a  pre- 
scription.    He  assured  Mr.  Lusignan  that  the  case  had 


A   SIMPLETON.  23 

no  extraordinary  feature,  wliatever ;  lie  was  not  to  alarm 
himself.  Dr.  Snell  then  drove  away,  leaving  the  parent 
rather  puzzled,  but,  on  the  whole,  much  comforted. 

And  here  I  must  reveal  an  extraordinary  circumstance. 

Wyman's  treatment  was  by  drugs. 

Dr.  Snell's  was  by  drugs. 

Dr.  Snell,  as  you  have  seen,  entirely  approved  Wyman's 
treatment. 

His  own  had  nothing  in  common  with  it.  The  Arctic 
and  Antarctic  poles  are  not  farther  apart  than  was  his  pre- 
scription from  the  prescription  he  thoroughly  approved. 

Amiable  science  !  In  which  complete  diversity  of  prac- 
tice did  not  interfere  with  perfect  uniformity  of  ox)inion. 

All  this  was  kept  from  Dr.  Staines,  and  he  was 
entirely  occupied  in  trying  to  get  a  position  that  might 
lead  to  fortune,  and  satisfy  Mr.  Lusignan.  He  called 
on  every  friend  he  had,  to  inquire  where  there  was  an 
opening.  He  walked  miles  and  miles  in  the  best  quar- 
ters of  London,  looking  for  an  opening;  he  let  it  be 
known  in  many  quarters  that  he  would  give  a  good  pre- 
mium to  any  physician  who  was  about  to  retire,  and 
would  introduce  him  to  his  patients. 

No  :  he  could  hear  of  nothing. 

Then,  after  a  great  struggle  with  himself,  he  called 
upon  his  uncle,  Philip  Staines,  a  retired  M.D.,  to  see  if 
he  would  do  anything  for  him.  He  left  this  to  the  last, 
for  a  very  good  reason  :  Dr.  Philip  was  an  irritable  old 
bachelor,  who  had  assisted  most  of  his  married  relatives  ; 
but,  finding  no  bottom  to  the  well,  had  turned  rusty  and 
crusty,  and  now  was  a]3t  to  administer  kicks  instead  of 
checks  to  all  who  were  near  and  dear  to  him.  However, 
Christopher  was  the  old  gentleman's  favorite,  and  was 
now  desperate ;  so  he  mustered  courage,  and  went.  He 
was  graciously  received  —  warml}^,  indeed.  This  gave 
him  great  hopes,  and  he  told  his  tale. 


24  A  SIMPLETON. 

The  old  bachelor  sided  with  Mr.  Lusignan.  "  What ! " 
said  he,  "do  you  want  to  marry,  and  propagate  pau- 
perism ?  I  thought  you  had  more  sense.  Confound  it 
all !  I  had  just  one  nephew  whose  knock  at  my  street- 
door  did  not  make  me  tremble ;  he  was  a  bachelor  and  a 
thinker,  and  came  for  a  friendly  chat ;  the  rest  are  mar- 
ried men,  highwaymen,  who  come  to  say,  ^  Stand  and 
deliver;'  and  now  even  you  want  to  join  the  giddy 
throng.  Well,  don't  ask  me  to  have  any  hand  in  it. 
You  are  a  man  of  promise  ;  and  you  might  as  well  hang 
a  millstone  round  your  neck  as  a  Avife.  Marriage  is  a 
greater  mistake  than  ever  now ;  the  women  dress  more 
and  manage  worse.  I  met  your  cousin  Jack  the  other 
day,  and  his  wife  with  seventy  pounds  on  her  back  ;  and 
next  door  to  paupers.  No ;  whilst  you  are  a  bachelor, 
like  me,  you  are  my  favorite,  and  down  in  my  will  for  a 
lump.  Once  marry,  and  you  join  the  noble  army  of  foot- 
pads, leeches,  vultures,  paupers,  gone  coons,  and  babblers 
about  brats  —  and  I  disown  you." 

There  was  no  hope  from  old  Crusty.  Christopher  left 
him,  snubbed  and  heart-sick.  At  last  he  met  a  sensible 
man,  who  made  him  see  there  was  no  short  cut  in  tliat 
profession.  He  must  be  content  to  play  the  up-hill 
game ;  must  settle  in  some  good  neighborhood ;  marry, 
if  possible,  since  husbands  and  fathers  of  families  prefer 
married  physicians ;  and  so  be  poor  at  thirty,  comfort- 
able at  forty,  and  rich  at  fifty  —  perhaps. 

Then  Christopher  came  down  to  his  lodgings  at  Graves- 
end,  and  was  very  unhappy ;  and  after  some  da3's  of 
misery,  he  wrote  a  letter  to  Kosa  in  a  moment  of  impa- 
tience, despondency,  and  passion. 

Kosa  Lusignan  got  worse  and  worse.  The  slight  but 
frequent  hemorrhage  was  a  drain  upon  her  system,  and 
weakened  her.  visibly.  She  began  to  lose  her  rich  com- 
plexion, and   sometimes   looked   almost   sallow ;   and  a 


A  SLMrLETON.  25 

slight  circle  showed  itself  under  her  eyes.  These  symp- 
toms were  unfavorable ;  nevertheless,  Dr.  Snell  and  Mr. 
Wyman  accepted  them  cheerfully,  as  fresh  indications 
that  nothing  was  affected  but  the  liver  ;  they  multiplied 
and  varied  their  prescriptions ;  the  malady  ignored  those 
prescriptions,  and  went  steadily  on.  Mr.  Lusignan  was 
terrified  but  helpless.     Kosa  resigned  and  reticent. 

But  it  was  not  in  human  nature  that  a  girl  of  this  age 
could  always  and  at  all  hours  be  mistress  of  herself. 
One  evening  in  particular  she  stood  before  the  glass  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  looked  at  herself  a  long  time  with 
horror.  "  Is  that  Eosa  Lusignan  ?  "  said  she,  aloud ;  "  it 
is  her  ghost.'^ 

A  deep  groan  startled  her.  She  turned;  it  was  her 
father.  She  thought  he  was  fast  asleep  ;  and  so  indeed 
he  had  been;  but  he  was  just  awaking,  and  heard  his 
daughter  utter  her  real  mind.  It  was  a  thunder-clap. 
"  Oh,  my  child  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  he  cried. 

Then  Eosa  was  taken  by  surprise  in  her  turn.  She 
spoke  out.  "Send  for  a  great  physician,  x^apa.  Don't 
let  us  deceive  ourselves ;  it  is  our  only  chance." 

"  I  will  ask  Mr.  Wyman  to  get  a  physician  down  from 
London." 

"ISTo,  no;  that  is  no  use;  they  will  put  their  heads 
together,  and  he  will  say  whatever  Mr.  Wyman  tells 
him.  La  !  papa,-  a  clever  man  like  you,  not  to  see  what 
a  cheat  that  consultation  was.  Why,  from  what  you 
told  me,  one  can  see  it  was  managed  so  that  Dr.  Snell 
could  not  possibly  have  an  opinion  of  his  own.  No ;  no 
more  echoes  of  Mr.  Chatterbox.  If  you  really  want  to 
cure  me,  send  for  Christopher  Staines." 

"  Dr.  Staines  !  he  is  very  young." 

"But  he  is  very  clever,  and  he  is  not  an  echo.  He 
won't  care  how  many  doctors  he  contradicts  when  I  am 
in  danger.     Papa,  it  is  your  child's  one  chance." 


26  A   SIMrLETON. 

"  I'll  try  it,"  said  the  old  man,  eagerly.  "  How  confi- 
dent you  look  !  your  color  has  come  back.  It  is  an  inspi- 
ration.    Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  think  by  this  time  he  must  be  at  his  lodgings  in 
Gravesend.     Send  to  him  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Not  I !  I'll  go  to  him  to-night.  It  is  only  a  mile, 
and  a  fine  clear  night." 

"  ]\Iy  own,  good,  kind  papa  !  Ah !  well,  come  what 
may,  I  have  lived  long  enough  to  be  loved.  Yes,  dear 
papa,  save  me.  I  am  very  young  to  die ;  and  he  loves 
me  so  dearly." 

The  old  man  bustled  away  to  put  on  something  warmer 
for  his  night  walk,  and  Rosa  leaned  back,  and  the  tears 
welled  out  of  her  eyes,  now  he  was  gone. 

Before  she  had  recovered  her  composure,  a  letter  was 
brought  her,  and  this  was  the  letter  from  Christopher 
Staines,  alluded  to  already. 

She  took  it  from  the  servant  with  averted  head,  not 
wishing  it  to  be  seen  she  had  been  crying,  and  she  started 
at  the  handwriting ;  it  seemed  such  a  coincidence  that  it 
should  come  just  as  she  was  sending  for  him. 

My  own  beloved  Rosa,  — I  now  write  to  tell  you,  with  a 
heavy  heart,  that  all  is  vain.  I  cannot  make,  nor  purchase, 
a  connection,  except  as  others  do,  b}^  time  and  patience.  Being 
a  bachelor  is  quite  against  a  young  physician.  If  I  had  a 
wife,  and  such  a  wife  as  you,  I  should  be  sure  to  get  on ;  you 
would  increase  my  connection  very  soon.  What,  then,  lies 
before  us?  I  see  but  two  things  —  to  Avait  till  we  are  old,  and 
our  pockets  are  filled,  but  our  hearts  chilled  or  soured ;  or  else 
to  marry  at  once,  and  climb  the  hill  together.  If  you  love  me 
as  I  love  you,  you  will  be  saving  till  the  battle  is  over;  and  I 
feel  I  could  find  energy  and  fortitude  for  both.  Your  father, 
who  thinks  so  much  of  wealth,  can  surely  settle  something  on 
you ;  and  I  am  not  too  poor  to  furnish  a  house  and  start  fair. 
1  am  not  quite  obscnire  —  my  lectures  have  given  me  a  name  — 
and  to  you,  my  own  love,  I  hof)e  I  may  say  that  I  know  more 


A    STISIPLETON.  27 

than  many  of  my  elders,  tlianks  to  good  schools,  good  method, 
a  genuine  love  of  my  noljle  profession,  and  a  tendency  to  study 
from  my  ehildliood.  ^\lll  you  not  risk  something  on  my 
ability?  If  not,  God  help  me,  for  I  shall  lose  you;  and  what 
is  life,  or  fame,  or  wealth,  or  any  mortal  thing  to  me.  without 
you  ?  I  cannot  accept  your  father's  decision  ;  you  must  decide 
my  fate. 

You  see  I  have  kept  away  from  you  until  I  can  do  so  no 
more.  All  this  time  the  world  to  me  has  seemed  to  want  the 
sun,  and  my  heart  pines  and  sickens  for  one  sight  of  you. 
Darling  Rosa,  pray  let  me  look  at  your  face  once  more. 

When  this  reaches  you  I  shall  be  at  your  gate.  Let  me 
see  you,  though  but  for  a  moment,  and  let  me  hear  my  fate 
from  no  \\\)s  but  yours. — My  own  love,  your  heart-broken 
lover, 

Christopher  Staines. 

This  letter  stunned  her  at  first.  Her  mind  of  late  had 
been  turned  away  from  love  to  such  stern  realities.  Now 
she  began  to  be  sorry  she  had  not  told  him.  "Poor 
thing ! "  she  said  to  herself,  "  he  little  knows  that  now 
all  is  changed.  Papa,  I  sometimes  think,  would  deny 
me  nothing  now ;  it  is  I  who  would  not  marry  him  —  to 
be  buried  by  him  in  a  month  or  two.    Poor  Christopher ! " 

The  next  moment  she  started  up  in  dismay.  AVhy,  her 
father  would  miss  him.  No ;  perhaps  catch  him  waiting 
for  her.  What  would  he  think  ?  What  would  Christopher 
think  ?  —  that  she  had  shown  her  papa  his  letter. 

She  rang  the  bell  hard.     The  footman  came. 

"  Send  Harriet  to  me  this  instant.  Oh,  and  ask  papa 
to  come  to  me." 

Then  she  sat  down  and  dashed  off  a  line  to  Christopher. 
This  was  for  Harriet  to  take  out  to  him.  Anything  better 
than  for  Christopher  to  be  caught  doing  what  was  wrong- 

The  footman  came  back  first.  "If  you  please,  miss, 
master  has  gone  out." 

"Eun  after  him  —  the  road  to  Gravesend." 


28  A   SIMrLETON. 

"Yes,  miss." 

"  No.     It  is  no  use.     Never  mind." 

"Yes,  miss." 

Then  Harriet  came  in.     "  Did  you  want  me,  miss  ?  " 

"Yes.     No  —  never  mind  now." 

She  was  afraid  to  do  anything  for  fear  of  making 
matters  worse.  She  went  to  the  window,  and  stood  look- 
ing anxiously  out,  with  her  hands  working.  Presently 
she  uttered  a  little  scream  and  shrank  away  to  the  sofa. 
She  sank  down  on  it,  half  sitting,  half  lying,  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands,  and  waited. 

Staines,  with  a  lover's  impatience,  had  been  more  than 
an  hour  at  the  gate,  or  walking  up  and  down  close  by  it, 
his  heart  now  burning  with  hope,  now  freezing  with  fear, 
that  she  would  decline  a  meeting  on  these  terms. 

At  last  the  postman  came,  and  then  he  saw  he  was  too 
soon;  but  now  in  a  few  minutes  Eosa  would  have  his 
letter,  and  then  he  should  soon  know  whether  she  would 
come  or  not.  He  looked  up  at  the  drawing-room  windows. 
They  were  full  of  light.  She  was  there  in  all  probability. 
Yet  she  did  not  come  to  them.  But  why  should  she,  if 
she  was  coming  out  ? 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  road.  She  did  not  come. 
His  heart  began  to  sicken  with  doubt.  His  head  drooped ; 
and  perhaps  it  was  owing  to  this  that  he  almost  ran 
against  a  gentleman  who  was  coming  the  other  way. 
The  moon  shone  bright  on  both  faces. 

"Dr.  Staines!"  said  Mr.  Lusignan  surprised.  Chris- 
topher uttered  an  ejaculation  more  eloquent  than  words. 

They  stared  at  each  other. 

"  You  were  coming  to  call  on  us  ?  " 

"  N — no,"  stammered  Christopher. 

Lusignan  thought  that  odd;  however,  he  said  politely, 
"No  matter,  it  is  fortunate.  Would  you  mind  coming 
in?" 


A    SIMPLETON.  29 

"  No,"  faltered  Christopher,  and  stared  at  him  ruefully, 
puzzled  uiore  and  more,  but  beginning  to  think,  after  all, 
it  might  be  a  casual  meeting. 

They  entered  the  gate,  and  in  one  moment  he  saw 
Rosa  at  the  window,  and  she  saw  him. 

Then  he  altered  his  opinion  again.  Rosa  had  sent  her 
father  out  to  him.  But  how  was  this  ?  The  old  man 
did  not  seem  angry.  Christopher's  heart  gave  a  leap 
inside  him,  and  he  began  to  glow  wi  th  the  wildest  hopes. 
For,  what  could  this  mean  but  relenting  ? 

j\Ir.  Lusignan  took  him  first  into  the  study,  and  lighted 
two  candles  himself.  He  did  not  want  the  servants 
prying. 

The  lights  showed  Christopher  a  change  in  Mr. 
Lusignan.     He  looked  ten  years  older. 

"  You  are  not  well,  sir,"  said  Christopher  gently. 

"  ]\Ey  health  is  well  enough,  but  I  am  a  broken-hearted 
man.  Dr.  Staines,  forget  all  that  passed  here  at  your 
last  visit.  All  that  is  over.  Thank  you  for  loving  my 
poor  girl  as  you  do  ;  give  me  your  hand ;  God  bless  you. 
Sir,  I  am  sorry  to  say  it  is  as  a  physician  I  invite  you 
now.     She  is  ill,  sir,  very,  very  ill." 

"HI!  and  not  tell  me  ! " 

"  She  kept  it  from  you,  my  poor  friend,  not  to  distress 
you ;  and  she  tried  to  keep  it  from  me,  but  how  could 
she  ?  For  two  months  she  has  had  some  terrible  com- 
plaint—  it  is  destroying  her.  She  is  the  ghost  of  herself. 
Oh,  my  poor  child  !  my  child  !  " 

The  old  man  sobbed  aloud.  The  young  man  stood 
trembling,  and  ashy  pale.  Still,  the  habits  of  his  pro- 
fession, and  the  experience  of  dangers  overcome,  together 
with  a  certain  sense  of  power,  kei)t  him  up ;  but,  above 
all,  love  and  duty  said,  "Be  firm."  He  asked  for  an  out- 
line of  the  symptoms. 

They  alarmed  him  greatly. 


30  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Let  us  lose  no  more  time/'  said  he.  "  I  will  see  iier 
at  once." 

"Do  you  ol)ject  to  my  being  present  ?" 

"  Of  course  not." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  Dr.  Snell  says  it  is,  and  Mr. 
Wyman  ?  " 

"By  all  means  —  after  I  have  seen  her." 

This  comforted  Mr.  Lusignan.  He  was  to  get  an  inde- 
pendent judgment,  at  all  events. 

When  they  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs,  Dr.  Staines 
paused  and  leaned  against  the  baluster.  "Give  me  a 
moment,"  said  he.  "The  patient  must  not  know  how 
my  heart  is  beating,  and  she  must  see  nothing  in  my 
face  but  what  I  choose  her  to  see.  Give  me  your  hand 
once  more,  sir;  let  us  both  control  ourselves.  'Now 
announce  me." 

Mr.  Lusignan  opened  the  door,  and  said,  with  forced 
cheerfulness,  "Dr.  Staines,  my  dear,  come  to  give  you 
the  benefit  of  his  skill." 

She  lay  on  the  sofa,  just  as  we  left  her.  Only  her 
bosom  began  to  heave. 

Then  Christopher  Staines  drew  himself  up,  and  the 
majesty  of  knowledge  and  love  together  seemed  to  dilate 
his  noble  frame.  He  fixed  his  eye  on  that  reclining, 
panting  figure,  and  stepped  lightly  but  firmly  across  the 
room  to  know  the  worst,  like  a  lion  walking  up  to  levelled 
lances. 


A  SIMrLETON. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  young  physician  walked  steadily  up  to  his  patient 
without  taking  liis  eye  off  her,  and  drew  a  chair  to  her 
side. 

Then  she  took  down  one  hand — the  left — and  gave  it 
him,  averting  her  face  tenderly,  and  still  covering  it  with 
her  right ;  "For,"  said  she  to  herself,  "I  am  such  a  fright 
now."  This  opportune  reflection,  and  her  heaving  bosom, 
proved  that  she  at  least  felt  herself  something  more  than 
his  patient.  Her  pretty  consciousness  made  his  task  more 
difficult ;  nevertheless,  he  only  allowed  himself  to  press 
her  hand  tenderly  with  both  his  palms,  one  moment,  and 
then  he  entered  on  his  functions  bravely.  "  I  am  here 
as  your  physician." 

"  Very  well,"  said  she  softly. 

He  gently  detained  the  hand,  and  put  his  finger  lightly 
to  her  pulse;  it  was  palpitating,  and  a  fallacious  test. 
Oh,  how  that  beating  pulse,  by  love's  electric  current,  set 
his  own  heart  throbbing  in  a  moment ! 

He  put  her  hand  gently,  reluctantly  down,  and  said, 
"  Oblige  me  by  turning  this  way."  She  turned,  and  he 
winced  internally  at  the  change  in  her;  but  his  face 
betrayed  nothing.  He  looked  at  her  full ;  and,  after  a 
pause,  put  her  some  questions :  one  was  as  to  the  color 
of  the  hemorrhage.     She  said  it  was  bright  red. 

"iSTot  a  tinge  of  purple  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  she  hopefully,  mistaking  him. 

He  suppressed  a  sigh. 

Then  he  listened  at  her  shoulder-blade  and  at  her 
chest,  and   made   her   draw   her   breath   while   he   was 


32  A  SIMPLETON. 

listening.  The  acts  were  simple,  and  usual  in  medicine, 
but  there  was  a  deep,  patient,  silent  intensity  about  his 
way  of  doing  tliem. 

Mr.  Lusignan  crept  nearer,  and  stood  with  both  hands 
on  a  table,  and  his  old  head  bowed,  awaiting  yet  dread- 
ing the  verdict. 

Up  to  this  time.  Dr.  Staines,  instead  of  tapping  and 
squeezing,  and  pulling  the  patient  about,  had  never 
touched  her  Avith  his  hand,  and  only  grazed  her  with 
his  ear;  but  now  he  said  ^' Allow  me,"  and  put  both 
hands  to  her  waist,  more  lightly  and  reverently 
than  I  can  describe ;  "  Now  draw  a  deep  breath,  if  you 
please." 

"  There ! " 

"If  you  could  draw  a  deeper  still,"  said  he,  insinu- 
atingly. 

"  There,  then  !  "  said  she,  a  little  pettishly. 

Dr.  Staines's  eye  kindled. 

"  Hum  !  "  said  he.  Then,  after  a  considerable  pause, 
''Are  you  better  or  worse  after  each  hemorrhage  ?  " 

"  La  !  "  said  Rosa  ;  "  they  never  asked  me  that.  Why, 
better." 

"  No  faintness  ?  " 

"Not  a  bit." 

"  Kather  a  sense  of  relief,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  feel  lighter  and  better." 

The  examination  was  concluded. 

Dr.  Staines  looked  at  Eosa,  and  then  at  her  father. 
The  agony  in  that  aged  face,  and  the  love  that  agony 
implied,  won  him,  and  it  was  to  the  parent  he  turned  to 
give  his  verdict. 

"  The  hemorrhage  is  from  the  lungs  "  — 

Lusignan  interrupted  him :  "  From  the  lungs  !  "  cried 
he,  in  dismay. 

"  Yes  J  a  slight  congestion  of  the  lungs." 


A   SIMPLETON.  33 

«  But  not  incurable  !     Oh,  not  incurable,  doctor  ! " 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  It  is  curable  —  easily  —  by  remov- 
ing the  cause." 

"  And  what  is  the  cause  ?  " 

"  The  cause  ?  "  —  he  hesitated,  and  looked  rather 
uneasy.  —  "  Well,  the  cause,  sir,  is  —  tight  stays." 

The  tranquillity  of  the  meeting  was  instantly  disturbed. 
"  Tight  stays  !  Me  !  "  cried  Kosa.  "  Why,  I  am  the 
loosest  girl  in  England.  Look,  papa !  "  And,  without 
any  apparent  effort,  she  drew  herself  in,  and  poked  her 
little  fist  between  her  sash  and  her  gown.     "  There  !  " 

Dr.  Staines  smiled  sadly  and  a  little  sarcastically :  he 
was  evidently  shy  of  encountering  the  lady  in  this  argu- 
ment ;  but  he  was  more  at  his  ease  with  her  father ;  so 
he  turned  towards  him  and  lectured  him  freely. 

"That  is  wonderful,  sir;  and  the  first  four  or  five 
female  patients  that  favored  me  with  it,  made  me  dis- 
believe my  other  senses;  but  Miss  Lusignan  is  now 
about  the  thirtieth  who  has  shoAvn  me  that  marvellcas 
feat,  with  a  calm  countenance  that  belies  the  herculean 
effort.  Mature  has  her  every-day  miracles:  a  boa-con- 
strictor, diameter  seventeen  inches,  can  swallow  a  buffalo ; 
a  woman,  with  her  stays  bisecting  her  almost,  and  lacer- 
ating her  skin,  can  yet  for  one  moment  make  herself 
seem  slack,  to  deceive  a  juvenile  physician.  The  snake 
is  the  miracle  of  expansion ;  the  woman  is  the  prodigy 
of  contraction." 

"Highly  grateful  for  the  comparison!"  cried  Eosa. 
"  Women  and  snakes  !  " 

Dr.  Staines  blushed  and  looked  uncomfortable.  "I 
did  not  mean  to  be  offensive  ;  it  certainly  was  a  very 
clumsy  comparison. 

"  ^Yhat  does  that  matter  ?  "  said  :\rr.  Lusignan,  impa- 
tiently. "Be  quiet,  Eosa,  and  let  Dr.  Staines  and  me 
talk  sense." 


34  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Oh,  then  I  am  nobody  in  the  business ! "  said  this 
wise  young  lady. 

"  You  are  everybody,"  said  Staines,  soothingly.  "But,'' 
suggested  he,  obsequiously,  "  if  you  don't  mind,  I  would 
rather  explain  my  views  to  your  father  —  on  this  one 
subject." 

"  And  a  pretty  subject  it  is  ! " 

Dr.  Staines  then  invited  Mr.  Lusignan  to  his  lodg- 
ings, and  promised  to  explain  the  matter  anatomically. 
"  Meantime,"  said  he,  "  would  you  be  good  enough  to  put 
your  hands  to  my  waist,  as  I  did  to  the  patient's." 

Mr.  Lusignan  complied;  and  the  patient  began  to 
titter  directly,  to  put  them  out  of  countenance. 

"  Please  observe  what  takes  place  when  I  draw  a  full 
breath. 

"Now  apply  the  same  test  to  the  patient.  Breathe 
your  best,  please.  Miss  Lusignan." 

The  patient  put  on  a  face  full  of  saucy  mutiny. 

"  To  oblige  us  both." 

"  Oh,  how  tiresome  ! " 

"I  am  aware  it  is  rather  laborious,"  said  Staines,  a 
little  dryly  ;  "  but  to  oblige  your  father  ! " 

"Oh,  anything  to  oblige  papa,"  said  she,  spitefully. 
"  There  !  And  I  do  hope  it  will  be  the  last  —  la !  no  ; 
I  don't  hope  that,  neither." 

Dr.  Staines  politely  ignored  her  little  attempts  to 
interrupt  the  argument.  "You  found,  sir,  that  the 
muscles  of  my  waist,  and  my  intercostal  ribs  themselves, 
rose  and  fell  with  each  inhalation  and  exhalation  of  air 
by  the  lungs." 

"I  did ;  but  my  daughter's  waist  was  like  dead  wood, 
and  so  were  her  low^er  ribs." 

At  this  volunteer  statement,  Kosa  colored  to  her 
temples.  "  Thanks,  papa !  Pack  me  oft"  to  London,  and 
sell  me  for  a  big  doll  1 " 


A   SIMPLETON.  35 

"  In  other  words,"  said  the  lecturer,  mild  and  pertinti- 
cious,  "with  us  the  lungs  have  room  to  blow,  and  the 
whole  bony  frame  expands  elastic  with  them,  like  the 
woodwork  of  a  blacksmith's  bellows ;  but  with  this 
patient,  and  many  of  her  sex,  that  noble  and  divinely 
framed  bellows  is  crippled  and  confined  by  a  powerful 
miichine  of  human  construction ;  so  it  works  lamely  and 
feebly  :  consequently  too  little  air,  and  of  course  too 
little  oxygen,  passes  through  that  spongy  organ  whose 
very  life  is  air.  Now  mark  the  special  result  in  tliis 
case  :  being  otherwise  healthy  and  vigorous,  our  patient's 
system  sends  into  the  lungs  more  blood  than  that  one 
crippled  organ  can  deal  with ;  a  small  quantity  becomes 
extravasated  at  odd  times ;  it  accumulates,  and  would 
become  dangerous  ;  then  Nature,  strengthened  by  sleep, 
and  by  some  hours'  relief  from  the  diabolical  engine, 
makes  an  effort  and  flings  it  off :  that  is  why  the  hem- 
orrhage comes  in  the  morning,  and  Avhy  she  is  the  better 
for  it,  feeling  neither  faint  nor  sick,  but  relieved  of  a 
weight.  This,  sir,  is  the  rationale  of  the  complaint ;  and 
it  is  to  you  I  must  look  for  the  cure.  To  judge  from  my 
other  female  patients,  and  from  the  few  words  Miss 
Lusignan  has  let  fall,  I  fear  we  must  not  count  on  any 
very  hearty  co-operation  from  her:  but  you  are  her 
father,  and  have  great  authority ;  I  conjure  you  to  use  it 
to  the  full,  as  you  once  used  it  —  to  my  sorrow  —  in  this 
very  room.  I  am  forgetting  my  character.  I  was  asked 
here  only  as  her  physician.     Good-evening." 

He  gave  a  little  gulp,  and  hurried  away,  with  an 
abruptness  that  touched  the  father  and  offended  the 
sapient  daughter. 

However,  Mr.  Lusignan  followed  him,  and  stopped 
him  before  he  left  the  house,  and  thanked  him  warmly ; 
and  to  his  surprise,  begged  him  to  call  again  in  a  day  or 
two. 


36  A   SIMPLETON. 

"Well,  Eosa,  wliat  do  yon  say  ?  " 
"  I  say  that  I  am  very  unfortunate  in  my  doctors. 
Mr.  Wynian  is  a  chatterbox  and  knows  nothing.  Dr. 
Snell  is  Mr.  Wyman's  echo.  Christopher  is  a  genius, 
and  they  are  always  full  of  crotchets.  A  pretty  doctor ! 
Gone  away,  and  not  prescribed  for  me  ! " 

Mr.  Lusignan  admitted  it  was  odd.  "  But,  after  all," 
said  he,  "  if  medicine  does  you  no  good  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  but  any  medicine  he  had  prescribed  would  have 
done  me  good,  and  that  makes  it  all  the  unkinder." 

"  If  you  think  so  highly  of  his  skill,  why  not  take  his 
advice  ?     It  can  do  no  harm." 

"  No  harm  ?  Why,  if  I  was  to  leave  them  off  I  should 
catch  a  dreadful  cold ;  and  that  would  be  sure  to  settle 
on  my  chest,  and  carry  me  off,  in  my  present  delicate 
state.     Besides,  it  is  so  unfeminine  not  to  wear  them." 

This  staggered  Mr.  Lusignan,  and  he  w^as  afraid  to 
press  the  point ;  but  what  Staines  had  said  fermented  in 
his  mind. 

Dr.  Snell  and  Mr.  Wyman  continued  their  visits  and 
their  prescriptions. 

The  patient  got  a  little  worse. 

Mr.  Lusignan  hoped  Christopher  would  call  again,  but 
he  did  not. 

AVhen  Dr.  Staines  had  satisfied  himself  that  the  dis- 
order was  easily  curable,  then  wounded  pride  found  an 
entrance  even  into  his  loving  heart.  That  two  strangers 
should  have  been  consulted  before  him !  He  was  only 
sent  for  because  they  could  not  cure  her. 

As  he  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  repeat  his  visit,  Mr. 
Lusignan  called  on  him,  and  said,  politely,  he  had  hoped 
to  receive  another  call  ere  this.  "  Personally,"  said  he, 
"  I  was  much  struck  with  your  observations ;  but  my 
daughter  is  afraid  she  will  catch  cold  if  she  leaves  off 
her  corset,  and  that,  you  know,  might  be  very  serious." 


A  SI^IPLETON.  37 

Dr.  Staines  groaned,  and,  when  he  liad  groaned,  he 
lectured.  "Female  patients  are  wonderfully  monoto- 
nous in  this  matter;  they  have  a  programme  of  evasions  ; 
and  whether  the  patient  is  a  lady  or  a  housemaid,  she 
seldom  varies  from  that  programme.  You  find  her 
breathing  life's  air  with  half  a  bellows,  and  you  tell 
her  so.  '  Oh,  no,'  says  she  ;  and  does  the  gigantic  feat 
of  contraction  we  witnessed  that  evening  at  your  house. 
But,  on  inquiry,  you  learn  there  is  a  raw  red  line 
ploughed  in  her  flesh  by  the  cruel  stays.  'What  is 
that  ? '  you  ask,  and  flatter  yourself  you  have  pinned 
her.  Xot  a  bit.  'That  was  the  last  pair.  I  changed 
them,  because  they  hurt  me.'  Driven  out  of  that  by 
proofs  of  recent  laceration,  they  say,  '  If  I  leave  them 
off  I  should  catch  my  death  of  cold,'  which  is  equivalent 
to  saying  there  is  no  flannel  in  the  shops,  no  common 
sense  nor  needles  at  home." 

He  then  laid  before  him  some  large  French  plates, 
showing  the  organs  of  the  human  trunk,  and  bade  him 
observe  in  how  small  a  space,  and  with  what  skill,  the 
Creator  has  packed  so  many  large  yet  delicate  organs,  so 
that  they  should  be  free  and  secure  from  friction,  though 
so  close  to  each  other.  He  showed  him  the  liver,  an 
organ  weighing  four  pounds,  and  of  large  circumference ; 
the  lungs,  a  very  large  organ,  suspended  in  the  chest  and 
impatient  of  pressure  ;  the  heart,  the  stomach,  the  spleen, 
all  of  them  too  closely  and  artfully  packed  to  bear  any 
further  compression. 

Having  thus  taken  him  by  the  eye,  he  took  him  by 
the  mind. 

•'Is  it  a  small  thing  for  the  creature  to  say  to  her 
Creator,  '  I  can  pack  all  this  egg-china  better  than  you 
can,'  and  thereupon  to  jam  all  those  vital  organs  close, 
by  a  powerful,  a  very  powerful  and  ingenious  machine  ? 
Is  it  a  small  thing  for  that  sex,  which,  for  good  reasons, 


38  A  SIMPLETON. 

the  Omniscient  has  made  larger  in  the  waist  than  the 
male,  to  say  to  her  Creator,  ^  You  don't  know  your  busi- 
ness ;  women  ought  to  be  smaller  in  the  waist  than  men, 
and  sliall  be  throughout  the  civilized  world '  ?  " 

In  short,  he  delivered  so  many  true  and  pointed  things 
on  this  trite  subject,  that  the  old  gentleman  was  con- 
vinced, and  begged  him  to  come  over  that  very  evening 
and  convince  Kosa. 

Dr.  Staines  shook  his  head  dolefully,  and  all  his  fire 
died  out  of  him  at  having  to  face  the  fair.  "  Eeason  will 
be  wasted.  Authority  is  the  only  weapon.  My  pro- 
fession and  my  reading  have  both  taught  me  that  the 
whole  character  of  her  sex  undergoes  a  change  the 
moment  a  man  interferes  with  their  dress.  From 
Chaucer's  day  to  our  own,  neither  public  satire  nor 
private  remonstrance  has  ever  shaken  any  of  their 
monstrous  fashions.  Easy,  obliging,  pliable,  and  weaker 
of  will  than  men  in  other  things,  do  but  touch  their 
dress,  however  objectionable,  and  rock  is  not  harder, 
iron  is  not  more  stubborn,  than  these  soft  and  yielding 
creatures.     It  is  no  earthly  use  my  coming —  I'll  come." 

He  came  that  very  evening,  and  saw  directly  she  was 
worse.  "  Of  course,"  said  he,  sadly,  "  you  have  not  taken 
my  advice." 

liosa  replied  with  a  toss  and  an  evasion,  "  I  was  not 
worth  a  prescription  !  " 

"  A  physician  can  prescribe  without  sending  his  patient 
to  the  druggist ;  and  when  he  does,  then  it  is  his  words 
are  gold." 

liosa  shook  her  head  with  an  air  of  lofty  incredulity. 

He  looked  ruefully  at  Mr.  Lusignan  and  was  silent. 
Kosa  smiled  sarcastically ;  she  thought  he  was  at  his 
wit's  end. 

Not  quite :  he  was  cudgelling  his  brains  in  search  of 
some  horribly  unscientific  argument,  that  might  prevail  j 


A  SIMPLETON.  39 

for  he  felt  science  would  fall  dead  upon  so  fair  an  antag- 
onist. At  last  his  eye  kindled  ;  he  had  hit  on  an  argu- 
ment unscientific  enough  for  anybody,  he  thought.  Said 
he,  ingratiatingly,  "  You  believe  the  Old  Testament  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,  every  syllable." 

"  And  the  lessons  it  teaches  ?  " 

"  Certainly ! " 

"  Then  let  me  tell  you  a  story  from  that  book.  A 
Syrian  general  had  a  terrible  disease.  He  consulted 
Elisha  by  deputy.  Elisha  said,  '  Bathe  seven  times  in  a 
certain  river,  Jordan,  and  you  will  get  well.'  The  general 
did  not  like  this  at  all ;  he  wanted  a  prescription  ;  wanted 
to  go  to  the  druggist ;  didn't  believe  in  hydropathy 
to  begin,  and,  in  any  case,  turned  up  his  nose  at  Jordan. 
What !  bathe  in  an  Israelitish  brook,  when  his  own 
country  boasted  noble  rivers,  with  a  reputation  for 
sanctity  into  the  bargain  ?  In  short,  he  preferred  his 
leprosy  to  such  irregular  medicine.  But  it  happened, 
by  some  immense  fortuity,  that  one  of  his  servants, 
though  an  Oriental,  was  a  friend,  instead  of  a  flatterer ; 
and  this  sensible  fellow  said,  ^  If  the  prophet  told  you 
to  do  some  great  and  difficult  thing,  to  get  rid  of  this 
fearful  malad}',  would  not  you  do  it,  however  distasteful  ? 
and  can  you  hesitate  when  he  merely  says.  Wash  in  the 
Jordan,  and  be  healed  ?  '  The  general  listened  to  good 
sense,  and  cured  himself.  Your  case  is  parallel.  You 
would  take  quantities  of  foul  medicine  ;  you  would 
submit  to  some  painful  operation,  if  life  and  health 
depended  on  it ;  then  why  not  do  a  small  thing  for  a 
great  result  ?  You  have  only  to  take  off  an  unnatural 
machine  which  cripples  your  growing  frame,  and  was 
unknown  to  every  one  of  the  women  whose  forms  in 
Parian  marble  the  world  admires.  Off  with  that  mon- 
strosity, and  your  cure  is  as  certain  as  the  Syrian  gener- 
al's ;  though  science,  and  not  inspiration,  dictates  the 
easy  remedy." 


40  A   SIMPLETON. 

Rosa  had  listened  impatiently,  and  now  replied  with 
some  warmth,  "  This  is  shockingly  profane.  The  idea  of 
comparing  yourself  to  Elisha,  and  me  to  a  horrid  leper  ! 
Mach  obliged !     Not  that  I  know  what  a  leper  is." 

^'  Come,  come  !  that  is  not  fair,"  said  Mr.  Lusignan. 
"  He  only  compared  the  situation,  not  the  people." 

"  But,  papa,  the  Bible  is  not  to  be  dragged  into  the 
cojnmon  affairs  of  life." 

"  Then  what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  papa  !  Well,  it  is  not  Sunday,  but  I  have  had  a 
sermon.  This  is  the  clergyman,  and  you  are  the  com- 
mentator —  he !  he  !  And  so  now  let  us  go  back  from 
divinity  to  medicine.  I  repeat "  (this  was  the  first  time 
she  had  said  it)  "  that  my  other  doctors  give  me  real 
prescriptions,  written  in  hieroglyj)hics.  You  can't  look 
at  them  without  feeling  there  must  be  something  in 
them." 

An  angry  spot  rose  on  Christopher's  cheek,  but  he 
only  said,  '^  And  are  your  other  doctors  satisfied  with  the 
progress  your  disorder  is  making  under  their  superin- 
teAidence  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  !  Papa,  tell  him  what  they  say,  and  I'll 
find  him  their  i)rescriptions."  She  went  to  a  drawer, 
and  rummaged,  affecting  not  to  listen. 

Lusignan  complied.  "  First  of  all,  sir,  I  must  tell  you 
they  are  confident  it  is  not  the  lungs,  but  the  liver." 

"  The  what !  "  shouted  Christopher. 

*'  Ah  !  "  screamed  Kosa.     "  Oh,  don't !  —  bawling !  " 

"  And  don't  you  screech,"  said  her  father,  with  a  look 
of  misery  and  apprehension  impartially  distributed  on 
the  resounding  pair. 

"  You  must  have  misunderstood  them,"  murmured 
Staines,  in  a  voice  that  was  now  barely  audible  a  yard 
off.  "The  hemorrhage  of  a  bright  red  color,  and 
expelled  without  effort  or  nausea  ?  " 


A  STIMPLETON.  41 

"From  the  liver  —  they  have  assured  me  again  and 
again,"  said  Lusignan. 

Christopher's  face  still  wore  a  look  of  blank  amaze- 
ment, till  Eosa  herself  confirmed  it  positively. 

Then  he  cast  a  look  of  agony  upon  her,  and  started  up 
in  a  passion,  forgetting  once  more  that  his  host  abhorred 
the  sonorous.  "  Oh,  shame  !  shame  !  "  he  cried,  "  that 
the  noble  profession  of  medicine  should  be  disgraced  by 
ignorance  such  as  this."  Then  he  said,  sternly,  "Sir, 
do  not  mistake  my  motives';  but  I  decline  to  have  any- 
thing further  to  do  with  this  case,  until  those  two  gentle- 
men have  been  relieved  of  it ;  and,  as  this  is  very  harsh, 
and  on  my  part  unprecedented,  I  will  give  you  one  reason 
out  of  many  I  could  give  you.  Sir,  there  is  no  road 
from  the  liver  to  the  throat  by  which  blood  can  travel 
in  this  way,  defying  the  laws  of  gravity  ;  and  they  knew, 
from  the  patient,  that  no  strong  expellent  force  has  ever 
been  in  operation.  Their  diagnosis,  therefore,  implies 
agnosis,  or  ignorance  too  great  to  be  forgiven.  I  will 
not  share  my  patient  with  two  gentlemen  who  know  so 
little  of  medicine,  and  know  nothing  of  anatomy,  which 
is  the  A  B  C  of  medicine.    Can  I  see  their  prescriptions  ?  " 

These  were  handed  to  him.  "  Good  heavens ! "  said 
he,  "  have  you  taken  all  these  ?  " 

"  Most  of  them." 

"Why,  then  you  have  drunk  about  two  gallons  of 
unwholesome  liquids,  and  eaten  a  pound  or  two  of  un- 
wholesome solids.  These  medicines  have  co-operated 
with  the  malady.  The  disorder  lies,  not  in  the  hemor- 
rhage, but  in  the  precedent  extravasation ;  that  is  a 
drain  on  the  system ;  and  how  is  the  loss  to  be  suj^plied? 
Why,  by  taking  a  little  more  nourishment  than  before  ; 
there  is  no  other  way  ;  and  probably  Nature,  left  to 
herself,  might  have  increased  your  appetite  to  meet  the 
occasion.      But   those   two   worthies   have   struck   thai 


42  A  SBIPLETON. 

weapon  out  of  Nature's  hand ;  they  have  peppered  away 
at  the  poor  ill-used  stomach  with  drugs  and  draughts, 
not  very  deleterious  I  grant  you,  but  all  more  or  less 
indigestible,  and  all  tending,  not  to  Avhet  the  appetite, 
but  to  clog  the  stomach,  or  turn  the  stomach,  or  pester 
the  stomach,  and  so  impair  the  appetite,  and  so  co- 
operate, indirectly,  with  the  malady." 

"This  is  good  sense,"  said  Lusignan.  "I  declare,  I  — 
I  wish  I  knew  how  to  get  rid  of  them." 

"  Oh,  I'll  do  that,  papa." 

"  No,  no  ;  it  is  not  worth  a  rumpus." 

"  I'll  do  it  too  politely  for  that.  Christopher,  you  are 
very  clever  —  terribly  clever.  Whenever  I  threw  their 
medicines  aAvay,  I  was  always  a  little  better  that  day. 
I  will  sacrifice  them  to  you.  It  is  a  sacrifice.  They  are 
both  so  kind  and  chatty,  and  don't  grudge  me  hiero- 
glyphics ;  now  you  do." 

She  sat  down  and  wrote  two  sweet  letters  to  Dr.  Snell 
and  Mr.  Wyman,  thanking  them  for  the  great  attention 
they  had  paid  her ;  but  finding  herself  getting  steadily 
worse,  in  spite  of  all  they  had  done  for  her,  she  pro- 
posed to  discontinue  her  medicines  for  a  time,  and  try 
change  of  air. 

"  And  suppose  they  call  to  see  whether  you  are  chang- 
ing the  air  ?  " 

"  In  that  case,  papa  —  ^  not  at  home.' " 

The  notes  were  addressed  and  despatched. 

Then  Dr.  Staines  brightened  up,  and  said  to  Lusignan, 
^^  I  am  now  happy  to  tell  you  that  I  have  overrated  the 
malady.  The  sad  change  I  see  in  Miss  Lusignan  is 
partly  due  to  the  great  bulk  of  unwholesome  esculents 
she  has  been  eating  and  drinking  under  the  head  of 
medicines.  These  discontinued,  she  might  linger  on  for 
years,  existing,  though  not  living  —  the  tight-laced  can- 
not be  said  to  live.     But  if  she  would  be  healthy  and 


A   SIMPLETON.  43 

happy,  let  her  throw  that  diabolical  machine  into  the 
fire.  It  is  no  use  asking  her  to  loosen  it ;  she  can't. 
Once  there,  the  temptation  is  too  strong.  Off  with  it, 
and,  take  my  word,  you  will  be  one  of  the  healthiest  and 
most  vigorous  young  ladies  in  Europe." 

Eosa  looked  rueful,  and  almost  sullen.  She  said  she 
had  parted  with  her  doctors  for  him,  but  she  really  could 
not  go  about  without  stays.  "  They  are  as  loose  as  they 
can  be.     See  !  " 

"That  part  of  the  programme  is  disposed  of,"  said 
Christopher.  "  Please  go  on  to  jSTo.  2.  How  about  the 
raw  red  line  where  the  loose  machine  has  sawed  you  ?  " 

"  What  red  line  ?  Ko  such  thing !  Somebody  or 
other  has  been  peeping  in  at  my  window.  I'll  have  the 
ivy  cut  down  to-morrow." 

"  Simpleton  !  "  said  ]\Ir.  Lusignan,  angrily.  "  You 
have  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag.  There  is  such  a  mark, 
then,  and  this  extraordinary  young  man  has  discerned  it 
with  the  eye  of  science." 

"  He  never  discerned  it  at  all,"  said  Eosa,  red  as  fire ; 
"  and,  what  is  more,  he  never  will." 

"  I  don't  want  to.  I  should  be  very  sorry  to.  I  hope 
it  will  be  gone  in  a  week." 

"I  wish  you  were  gone  now  —  exposing  me  in  this 
cruel  way,"  said  Eosa,  angry  with  herself  for  having 
said  an  idiotic  thing,  and  furious  with  him  for  having 
made  her  say  it. 

"  Oh,  Eosa ! "  said  Christopher,  in  a  voice  of  tenderest 
reproach. 

But  Mr.  Lusignan  interfered  promptly.  "Eosa,  no 
noise.  I  will  not  have  you  snapping  at  your  best  friend 
and  mine.  If  you  are  excited,  you  had  better  retire  to 
your  own  room  and  compose  yourself.     I  hate  a  clamor." 

Eosa  made  a  wry  face  at  this  rebuke,  and  then  began 
to  cry  quietly. 


44  A   SIMPLETON. 

Every  tear  was  like  a  drop  of  blood  from  Cliristopher's 
heart.  "Pray  don't  scold  lier,  sir,"  said  lie,  ready  to 
snivel  himself.  "  She  meant  nothing  unkind :  it  is  only 
her  pretty  sprightly  way ;  and  she  did  not  really  imagine 
a  love  so  reverent  as  mine  "  — 

"  Don't  you  interfere  between  my  father  and  me,"  said 
this  reasonable  young  lady,  now  in  an  ungovernable 
state  of  feminine  irritability. 

"No,  Rosa,"  said  Christopher,  humbly.  "Mr.  Lusi- 
gnan,"  said  he,  "  I  hope  you  will  tell  her  that,  from  the 
very  first,  I  was  unwilling  to  enter  on  this  subject  with 
her.  Neither  she  nor  I  can  forget  my  double  character. 
I  have  not  said  half  as  much  to  her  as  I  ought,  being  her 
physician ;  and  yet  you  see  I  have  said  more  than  she 
can  bear  from  me,  who,  she  knows,  love  her  and  revere 
her.  Then,  once  for  all,  do  pray  let  me  put  this  deli- 
cate matter  into  your  hands  :  it  is  a  case  for  parental 
authority." 

"  Unf atherly  tyranny,  that  means,"  said  Rosa.  "  What 
business  have  gentlemen  interfering  in  such  things  ?  It 
is  unheard  of.     I  will  not  submit  to  it,  even  from  papa." 

"Well,  you  need  not  scream  at  me,"  said  Mr.  Lusi- 
gnan ;  and  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  to  Staines.  "  She 
is  impracticable,  you  see.  If  I  do  my  duty,  there  will 
be  a  disturbance." 

Now  this  roused  the  bile  of  Dr.  Staines.  "What, 
sir!"  said  he,  "you  could  separate  her  and  me  b}^  your 
authority,  here  in  this  very  room ;  and  yet,  when  her 
life  is  at  stake,  you  abdicate  !  You  could  part  her  from 
a  man  who  loved  her  with  every  drop  of  his  heart,  —  and 
she  said  she  loved  him,  or,  at  all  events,  preferred  him 
to  others,  —  and  you  cannot  part  her  from  a  miserable 
corset,  although  you  see  in  her  poor  wasted  face  that  it 
is  carrying  her  to  the  churchyard.  In  that  case,  sir, 
there  is  but  one  thing  for  you  to  do,  —  withdraw  your 


A  SIMPLETON.  45 

opposition  and  let  me  marry  lier.  As  her  lover  I  am 
powerless;  but  invest  me  with  a  Imsband's  authority, 
and  you  will  soon  see  the  roses  return  to  her  cheek,  and 
her  elastic  figure  expanding,  and  her  eye  beaming  with 
health  and  the  happiness  that  comes  of  perfect  health." 

Mr.  Lusignan  made  an  answer  neither  of  his  hearers 
expected.  He  said,  "  I  have  a  great  mind  to  take  you 
at  your  word.  I  am  too  old  and  fond  of  quiet  to  drive  a 
Simpleton  in  single  harness." 

This  contemptuous  speech,  and,  above  all,  the  word 
Simpleton,  which  had  been  applied  to  her  pretty  freely 
by  young  ladies  at  school,  and  always  galled  her  terribly, 
inflicted  so  intolerable  a  wound  on  Rosa's  vanity,  that 
she  was  ready  to  burst :  on  that,  of  course,  her  stays 
contributed  their  mite  of  physical  uneasiness.  Thus 
irritated  mind  and  body,  she  burned  to  strike  in  return ; 
and  as  she  could  not  slap  her  father  in  the  presence  of 
another,  she  gave  it  Christopher  back-handed. 

"  You  can  turn  me  out  of  doors  "  said  she,  "  if  vOu  are 
tired  of  your  daughter,  but  I  am  not  such  a  simpleton  as 
to  marry  a  tyrant.  No ;  he  has  shown  the  cloven  foot 
in  time.  A  husband's  authority,  indeed!"  Then  she 
turned  her  hand,  and  gave  it  him  direct.  "  You  told  me 
a  different  story  when  you  were  paying  your  court  to 
me ;  then  you  were  to  be  my  servant,  —  all  hypocritical 
sweetness.  You  had  better  go  and  marry  a  Circassian 
slave.  They  don't  wear  stays,  and  they  do  wear  trou- 
sers ;  so  she  Avill  be  unfeminine  enough,  even  for  you. 
No  English  lady  would  let  her  husband  dictate  to  her 
about  such  a  thing.  I  can  have  as  many  husbands  as  I 
like,  without  falling  into  the  clutches  of  a  tyrant.  You 
are  a  rude,  indelicate  —  And  so  please  understand  it  is 
nil  over  between  you  and  me." 

Both  her  auditors  stood  aghast,  for  she  uttered  this 
conclusion  with  a  dignity  of  which  the  opening  gave  no 


46  A   SIMPLETON. 

promise,  and  the  occasion,  weighed  in  masculine  balances, 
was  not  worthy. 

"  You  do  not  mean  that.  You  cannot  mean  it,"  said 
Dr.  Staines,  aghast. 

"  I  do  mean  it,"  said  she,  firmly ;  "  and,  if  you  are  a 
gentleman,  you  will  not  compel  me  to  say  it  twice  — 
three  times,  I  mean." 

At  this  dagger-stroke  Christopher  turned  very  pale, 
but  he  maintained  his  dignity.  "I  am  a  gentleman," 
said  he,  quietly,  "and  a  very  unfortunate  one.  Good- 
by,  sir;  thank  you  kindly.  Good-by,  Eosa;  God  bless 
you !  Oh,  pray  take  a  thought !  Remember,  your  life 
and  death  are  in  your  own  hand  now.     I  am  powerless." 

And  he  left  the  house  in  sorrow,  and  just,  but  not 
pettish,  indignation. 

When  he  was  gone,  father  and  daughter  looked  at  each 
other,  and  there  was  the  silence  that  succeeds  a  storm. 

Eosa,  feeling  the  most  uneasy,  was  the  first  to  express 
her  satisfaction.  "  There,  he  is  gone,  and  I  am  glad  of 
it.  Now  you  and  I  shall  never  quarrel  again.  I  was 
quite  right.  Such  impertinence  !  Such  indelicacy  !  A 
fine  prospect  for  me  if  I  had  married  such  a  man  !  How- 
ever, he  is  gone,  and  so  there's  an  end  of  it.  The  idea ! 
telling  a  young  lady,  before  her  father,  she  is  tight-laced  ! 
If  you  had  not  been  there  I  could  have  forgiven  him. 
But  I  am  not ;  it  is  a  story.  Now,"  suddenly  exalting 
her  voice,  "I  know  you  believe  him." 

"I  say  nothing,"  whispered  papa,  hoping  to  still  her 
by  example.     This  ruse  did  not  succeed. 

"  But  you  look  volumes,"  cried  she  :  "  and  I  can't  bear 
it.  I  won't  bear  it.  If  you  don't  believe  me,  ask  my 
maicV^  And  with  this  felicitous  speech,  she  rang  the 
bell. 

"  You'll  break  the  wire  if  you  don't  mind,"  suggested 
her  father,  piteously. 


A   SBIPLETON.  47 

•^  All  the  better !  Wliy  should  not  wires  be  broken  as 
well  as  my  heart  ?  Oh,  here  she  is  !  Now,  Harriet, 
come  here." 

"  Yes,  miss." 

"  And  tell  the  truth.     Am  I  tight-laced  ?  " 

Harriet  looked  in  her  face  a  moment  to  see  what  was 
required  of  her,  and  then  said,  "  That  you  are  not,  miss. 
I  never  dressed  a  young  lady  as  wore  'em  easier  than 
you  do." 

"  There,  papa !     That  will  do,  Harriet." 

Harriet  retired  as  far  as  the  keyhole ;  she  saw  some- 
thing was  up. 

"  Now,"  said  Kosa,  "  you  see  I  was  right ;  and,  after 
all,  it  was  a  match  you  did  not  approve.  Well,  it  is  all 
over,  and  now  you  may  write  to  your  favorite.  Colonel 
Bright.  If  he  comes  here,  I'll  box  his  old  ears.  I  hate 
him.  I  hate  them  all.  Forgive  your  wayward  girl.  I'll 
stay  with  you  all  my  days.  I  dare  say  that  will  not  be 
long,  now  I  have  quarrelled  with  my  guardian  angel; 
and  all  for  what  ?  Papa !  papa  !  how  ca7i  you  sit  there 
and  not  speak  me  one  word  of  comfort  ?  '  Simjyleton  ?  ' 
Ah  !  that  I  am  to  throw  away  a  love  a  queen  is  scarcely 
worthy  of ;  and  all  for  what  ?  Eeally,  if  it  wasn't  for 
the  ingratitude  and  wickedness  of  the  thing,  it  is  too 
laughable.     Ha  !  ha  !  —  oh  !  oh  !  oh !  —  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

And  off  she  went  into  hysterics,  and  began  to  gulp 
and  choke  frightfully. 

Her  father  cried  for  help  in  dismay.  In  ran  Harriet, 
saw,  and  screamed,  but  did  not  lose  her  head ;  this  vera- 
cious person  whipped  a  pair  of  scissors  off  the  table,  and 
cut  the  young  lady's  stay-laces  directly.  Then  there  was 
a  burst  of  imprisoned  beauty ;  a  deep,  deep  sigh  of 
relief  came  from  a  bosom  that  would  have  done  honor 
to  Diana ;  and  the  scene  soon  concluded  with  fits  of 
harmless  weeping,  renewed  at  intervals. 


48  A  SIMPLETON. 

When  it  had  settled  down  to  this,  her  father,  to  soothe 
her,  said  he  would  write  to  Dr.  Staines,  and  bring  about 
a  reconciliation,  if  she  liked. 

"  No,"  said  she,  "  you  shall  kill  me  sooner.  I  should 
die  of  shame." 

She  added,  "  Oh,  pray,  from  this  hour,  never  mention 
his  name  to  me." 

And  then  she  had  another  cry. 

Mr.  Lusignan  was  a  sensible  man:  he  dropped  the 
subject  for  the  present;  but  he  made  up  his  mind  to  one 
thing  —  that  he  would  never  part  with  Dr.  Staines  as  a 
physician. 

Next  day  Kosa  kept  her  own  room  until  dinner-time, 
and  was  as  unhappy  as  she  deserved  to  be.  She  spent 
her  time  in  sewing  on  stiff  flannel  linings  and  crying. 
She  half  hoped  Christopher  would  write  to  her,  so  that 
she  might  write  back  that  she  forgave  him.  But  not  a 
line. 

At  half-past  six  her  volatile  mind  took  a  turn,  real  or 
affected.  She  would  cry  no  more  for  an  ungrateful  fel- 
low,—  ungrateful  for  not  seeing  through  the  stone  walls 
how  she  had  been  employed  all  the  morning;  and  making 
it  up.  So  she  bathed  her  red  eyes,  made  a  great  altera- 
tion in  her  dress,  and  came  dancing  into  the  room  hum- 
ming an  Italian  ditty. 

As  they  were  sitting  together  in  the  dining-room  after 
dinner,  two  letters  came  by  the  same  post  to  Mr.  Lusignan 
from  JNIr.  Wyman  and  Dr.  Snell. 

Mr.  Wyman's  letter :  — 

Dear  Sir, —lam  sorry  to  hear  from  Miss  Lusignan  that 

she  intends  to  discontinue  medical  advice.     The  disorder  was 

progressing  favorably,  and  nothing  to  be  feared,  under  proper 

treatment. 

Yours,  etc. 


A   SIMPLETON.  49 

Dr.  Snell's  letter:  — 

])eau  Sik,  —  jNIiss  Lusignan  has  written  to  me  somewhat 
impatiently,  and  seems  disposed  to  dispense  with  my  visits.  I 
do  not,  however,  think  it  ri^ht  to  withdraw  witliout  telling  you 
candidly  that  this  is  an  unwise  step.  Your  daughter's  health 
is  ill  a  very  precarious  condition. 

Yours,  etc. 

Rosa  burst  out  laughing.  "I  have  nothing  to  fear, 
and  I'm  on  the  brink  of  the  grave.  That  comes  of 
writing  without  a  consultation.  If  they  had  written 
at  one  table,  I  should  have  been  neither  well  nor  ilL 
Poor  Christopher ! "  and  her  sweet  face  began  to  work 
piteously. 

"  There  !  there  !  drink  a  glass  of  wine." 

She  did,  and  a  tear  with  it,  that  ran  into  the  glass  like 
lightning. 

Warned  by  this  that  grief  sat  very  near  the  bright, 
hilarious  surface,  IMr.  Lusignan  avoided  all  emotional 
subjects  for  the  present.  Xext  day,  however,  he  told 
her  she  might  dismiss  her  lover,  but  no  power  should 
make  him  dismiss  his  pet  physician,  unless  her  health 
improved. 

"  I  will  not  give  you  that  excuse  for  inflicting  him  on 
me  again,"  said  the  young  hypocrite. 

She  kept  her  word.  She  got  better  and  better,  stronger, 
brighter,  gayer. 

She  took  to  walking  every  day,  and  increasing  the  dis- 
tance, till  she  could  walk  ten  miles  without  fatigue. 

Her  favorite  walk  was  to  a  certain  cliff  that  com- 
manded a  noble  view  of  the  sea.  To  get  to  it  she  must 
pass  through  the  town  of  Gravesend ;  and  we  may  be 
sure  she  did  not  pass  so  often  through  that  city  without 
some  idea  of  meeting  the  lover  she  had  used  so  ill,  and 
eliciting  an  apology  from  him.     Sly  puss  ! 


50  A   SIMPLETON. 

When  she  had  walked  twenty  times,  or  thereabouts, 
through  the  town,  and  never  seen  him,  she  began  to  fear 
she  had  offended  liim  past  hope.  Then  she  used  to  cry 
at  the  end  of  every  walk. 

But  by  and  by  bodily  health,  vanity,  and  temper  com- 
bined to  rouse  the  defiant  spirit.  Said  she,  "If  he  really 
loved  me,  he  would  not  take  my  word  in  such  a  hurry. 
And  besides,  why  does  he  not  watch  me,  and  find  out 
what  I  am  doing,  and  where  I  walk  ?  '^ 

At  last  she  really  began  to  persuade  herself  that  she 
was  an  ill-used  and  slighted  girl.  She  was  very  angry  at 
times,  and  disconsolate  at  others ;  a  mixed  state  in  which 
hasty  and  impulsive  young  ladies  commit  lifelong  follies. 

Mr.  Lusignan  observed  the  surface  only :  he  saw  his 
invalid  daughter  getting  better  every  day,  till  at  last  she 
became  a  picture  of  health  and  bodily  vigor.  Relieved 
of  his  fears,  he  troubled  his  head  but  little  about  Christo- 
pher Staines.  Yet  he  esteemed  him,  and  had  got  to  like 
liim ;  but  Rosa  was  a  beauty,  and  could  do  better  than 
marry  a  struggling  physician,  however  able.  He  launched 
out  into  a  little  gayety,  resumed  his  quiet  dinner-parties  ; 
and,  after  some  persuasion,  took  his  now  blooming 
daughter  to  a  ball  given  by  the  officers  of  Chatham. 

She  was  the  belle  of  the  ball  beyond  disimte,  and 
danced  with  ethereal  grace  and  athletic  endurance.  She 
was  madly  fond  of  waltzing,  and  here  she  encountered 
what  she  was  pleased  to  call  a  divine  dancer.  It  was  a 
Ml.  Reginald  Falcon,  a  gentleman  who  had  retired  to 
the  seaside  to  recruit  his  health  and  finances  sore  tried 
by  London  and  Paris.  Falcon  had  run  through  his  for- 
tune, but  had  acquired,  in  the  process,  certain  talents 
which,  as  they  cost  the  acquirer  dear,  so  they  sometimes 
repay  him,  especially  if  he  is  not  overburdened  with 
principle,  and  adopts  the  notion  that,  the  worhl  having 
plucked  him,  he  has  a  right  to  pluck  the  "world.      He 


A   SIMPLETON.  51 

could  play  billiards  well,  but  never  so  well  as  when  back- 
ing himself  for  a  heavy  stake.  He  could  shoot  pigeons 
well,  and  his  shooting  improved  under  that  which  makes 
some  marksmen  miss  —  a  heavy  bet  against  the  gun. 
He  danced  to  perfection ;  and  being  a  well-bred,  experi- 
enced, brazen,  adroit  fellow,  who  knew  a  little  of  every- 
thing that  was  going,  he  had  always  plenty  to  say. 
Above  all,  he  had  made  a  particular  study  of  the  fair 
sex ;  had  met  with  many  successes,  many  rebuffs ;  and, 
at  last,  by  keen  study  of  their  minds,  and  a  habit  he  had 
acrxuired  of  watching  their  faces,  and  shifting  his  helm 
accordingly,  had  learned  the  great  art  of  pleasing  them. 
They  admired  his  face ;  to  me,  the  short  space  between 
his  eyes  and  his  hair,  his  aquiline  nose,  and  thin  straight 
lil)S,  suggested  the  bird  of  prey  a  little  too  much :  but  to 
fair  doves,  born  to  be  clutched,  this  similitude  perhaps 
was  not  very  alarming,  even  if  they  observed  it. 

Eosa  danced  several  times  with  him,  and  told  him  he 
danced  like  an  angel.  He  informed  her  that  was  because, 
for  once,  he  was  dancing  with  an  angel.  She  laughed 
and  blushed.  He  flattered  deliciously,  and  it  cost  him 
little ;  for  he  fell  in  love  with  her  that  night,  deeper 
than  he  had  ever  been  in  his  whole  life  of  intrigue.  He 
asked  leave  to  call  on  her :  she  looked  a  little  shy  at 
that,  and  did  not  respond.  He  instantly  withdrew  his 
proposal,  with  an  apology  and  a  sigh  that  raised  her 
pity.  However,  she  was  not  a  forward  girl,  even  when 
excited  by  dancing  and  charmed  with  her  partner;  so 
she  left  him  to  find  his  own  way  out  of  that  difficulty. 

He  was  not  long  about  it.  At  the  end  of  the  next 
waltz  he  asked  her  if  he  might  venture  to  solicit  an 
introduction  to  her  father. 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  she.  "  What  a  selfish  girl  I  am  ! 
this  is  terribly  dull  for  him." 

The  introduction  being  made,  and  Kosa  being  engaged 


52  A   SIMPLETON. 

for  the  next  three  dances,  Mr.  Falcon  sat  by  Mr.  Lusignan 
and  entertained  him.  For  this  little  piece  of  apparent 
self-denial  he  was  paid  in  various  coin :  Lusignan  found 
out  he  was  the  son  of  an  old  acquaintance,  and  so  the 
door  of  Kent  Villa  opened  to  him ;  meantime,  Kosa 
Lusignan  never  passed  him,  even  in  the  arms  of  a  cav- 
alry officer,  without  bestowing  a  glance  of  approval  and 
gratitude  on  him.  "  What  a  good-hearted  young  man  !  " 
thought  she.  '^  How  kind  of  him  to  amuse  papa ;  and 
now  I  can  stay  so  much  longer." 

Falcon  followed  up  the  dance  by  a  call,  and  was  infi- 
nitely agreeable :  followed  up  the  call  by  another,  and 
admired  Rosa  with  so  little  disguise  that  Mr.  Lusignan 
said  to  her,  "  I  think  you  have  made  a  conquest.  Ilis 
father  had  considerable  estates  in  Essex.  I  presume  he 
inherits  them." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  his  estates,"  said  Eosa,  "  he  dances 
like  an  angel,  and  gossips  charmingly,  and  is  so  nice." 

Christopher  Staines  pined  for  this  girl  in  silence :  his 
fine  frame  got  thinner,  his  pale  cheek  paler,  as  she  got 
rosier  and  rosier ;  and  how  ?  Why,  by  following  the 
very  advice  she  had  snubbed  him  for  giving  her.  At 
last,  he  heard  she  had  been  the  belle  of  a  ball,  and 
that  she  had  been  seen  walking  miles  from  home,  and 
blooming  as  a  Hebe.  Then  his  deep  anxiety  ceased,  his 
pride  stung  him  furiously ;  he  began  to  think  of  his  own 
value,  and  to  struggle  with  all  his  might  against  his 
deep  love.  Sometimes  he  would  even  inveigh  against 
her,  and  call  her  a  fickle,  ungrateful  girl,  capable  of  no 
strong  passion  but  vanity.  Many  a  hard  term  he  applied 
to  her  in  his  sorrowful  solitude ;  but  not  a  word  when 
he  had  a  hearer.  He  found  it  hard  to  rest :  he  kept 
dashing  up  to  London  and  back.  He  plunged  furiously 
into  study.  He  groaned  and  sighed,  and  fought  the 
hard  and  bitter  fight  that  is  too  often  the  lot  of  the  deep 


A    SIMPLETON.  63 

tliat  love  the  shallow.  Strong,  but  single-hearted,  no 
other  lady  could  comfort  him.  He  turned  from  female 
company,  and  shunned  all  for  the  fault  of  one. 

The  inward  contest  wore  him.  He  began  to  look  very 
thin  and  wan;  and  all  for  a  Simpleton  ! 

I\lr.  Falcon  prolonged  liis  stay  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  drove  a  handsome  dogcart  over  twice  a  week  to  visit 
Mr.  Lusignan. 

He  used  to  call  on  that  gentleman  at  four  o'clock,  for 
at  that  hour  JMr.  Lusignan  was  always  out,  and  his 
daughter  always  at  home. 

She  was  at  home  at  that  liour  because  she  took  her 
long  walks  in  the  morning.  AVhile  her  new  admirer 
was  in  bed,  or  dressing,  or  breakfasting,  she  was  spring- 
ing along  the  road  with  all  the  elasticity  of  youth,  and 
health,  and  native  vigor,  braced  by  daily  exercise. 

Twenty-one  of  these  walks  did  she  take,  with  no  other 
result  than  health  and  appetite ;  but  the  twenty-second 
was  more  fertile  — extremely  fertile.  Starting  later  than 
usual,  she  passed  through  Gravesend  w^hile  Eeginald 
Falcon  was  smoking  at  his  front  window.  He  saw  her, 
and  instantly  doffed  his  dressing-gown  and  donned  his 
coat  to  follow  her.  He  was  madly  in  love  with  her,  and 
being  a  man  who  had  learned  to  shoot  pigeons  and 
opportunities  flying,  he  instantly  resolved  to  join  her 
in  her  walk,  get  her  clear  of  the  town,  by  the  sea-beach, 
where  beauty  melts,  and  propose  to  her.  Yes,  marriage 
had  not  been  hitherto  his  habit,  but  this  girl  was  peer- 
less :  he  was  pledged  by  honor  and  gratitude  to  Phoebe 
Dale ;  but  hang  all  that  now.  "  Xo  man  should  marry 
one  woman  when  he  loves  another ;  it  is  dishonorable." 
He  got  into  the  street  and  followed  her  as  fast  as  he 
could  without  running. 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  catch  her.  Ladies  are  not  built 
for  running ;  but  a  fine,  tall,  symmetrical  girl  who  has 


54  A  SIMPLETON. 

practised  walking  fast  can  cover  tlie  ground  wonderfully 
in  walking — if  she  chooses.  It  was  a  sight  to  see  how 
Bosa  Lusignan  squared  her  shoulders  and  stepped  out 
from  the  waist  like  a  Canadian  girl  skating,  while  her 
elastic  foot  slapped  the  pavement  as  she  spanked  along. 

She  had  nearly  cleared  the  town  before  Falcon  came 
up  with  her. 

He  was  hardly  ten  yards  from  her  when  an  unexpected 
incident  occurred.  She  whisked  round  the  corner  of 
Bird  Street,  and  ran  plump  against  Christopher  Staines ; 
in  fact,  she  darted  into  his  arms,  and  her  face  almost 
touched  the  breast  she  had  wounded  so  deeply. 


A  SIMPLETON.  55 


CHAPTEK   IV. 

EosA  cried  "  Oli ! "  and  put  up  her  hands  to  her  face 
in  lovely  confusion,  coloring  like  a  peony. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Christopher,  stiffly,  but  in  a 
voice  that  trembled. 

"  No,"  said  Eosa,  "  it  was  I  ran  against  you.  I  walk 
so  fast  now.     Hope  I  did  not  hurt  you." 

"  Hurt  me  ?  " 

"  Well,  then,  frighten  you  ?  " 

No  answer. 

"  Oh,  please  don't  quarrel  with  me  in  the  street,''^  said 
Rosa,  cunningly  implying  that  he  was  the  quarrelsome 
one.  "  I  am  going  on  the  beach.  Good-by ! "  This 
adieu  she  uttered  softly,  and  in  a  hesitating  tone  that 
belied  it.  She  started  off,  however,  but  much  more 
slowly  than  she  was  going  before ;  and,  as  she  went,  she 
turned  her  head  with  infinite  grace,  and  kept  looking 
askant  down  at  the  pavement  two  3*ards  behind  her: 
moreover  she  went  close  to  the  wall,  and  left  room  at 
her  side  for  another  to  walk. 

Christopher  hesitated  a  moment ;  but  the  mute  invita- 
tion, so  arch  yet  timid,  so  pretty,  tender,  si}',  and 
womanly,  was  too  much  for  him,  as  it  has  generally 
proved  for  males,  and  the  philosopher's  foot  was  soon  in 
the  very  place  to  which  the  Simpleton  with  the  mere  tail 
of  her  eye  directed  it. 

They  walked  along,  side  by  side,  in  silence,  Staines  agi- 
tated, gloomy,  confused,  Rosa  radiant  and  glowing,  yet 
not  knowing  what  to  say  for  herself,  and  wanting  Cliris- 
topher  to  begin.     So  they  walked  along  without  a  word. 


56  A   SIMPLETON. 

Falcon  followed  them  at  some  distance  to  see  whether 
it  was  an  admirer  or  only  an  acquaintance.  A  lover  he 
never  dreamed  of ;  she  had  shown  such  evident  pleasure 
in  his  company,  and  had  received  his  visits  alone  so 
constantly. 

However,  when  the  pair  had  got  to  the  beach,  and  were 
walking  slower  and  slower,  he  felt  a  pang  of  rage  and 
jealousy,  turned  on  his  heel  wdth  an  audible  curse,  and 
found  Phoebe  Dale  a  few  yards  behind  him  with  a  white 
face  and  a  peculiar  look.  He  knew  what  the  look 
meant;  he  had  brought  it  to  that  faithful  face  before 
to-day. 

"You  are  better.  Miss  Lusignan." 

"  Better,  Dr.  Staines  ?  I  am  health  itself,  thanks  to  — 
hem  ! " 

"  Our  estrangement  has  agreed  with  you  ?  "  This  very 
bitterly. 

"  You  know  very  well  it  is  not  that.  Oh,  please  don't 
make  me  cry  in  the  streets." 

This  humble  petition,  or  rather  meek  threat,  led  to 
another  long  silence.  It  was  continued  till  they  had 
nearly  reached  the  shore.  But,  meantime,  E,osa's  furtive 
eyes  scanned  Christopher's  face,  and  her  conscience  smote 
her  at  the  signs  of  suffering.  She  felt  a  desire  to  beg 
his  pardon  with  deep  humility ;  but  she  suppressed  that 
weakness.  She  hung  her  head  with  a  pretty,  sheepish 
air,  and  asked  him  if  he  could  not  think  of  something 
agreeable  to  say  to  one  after  deserting  one  so  long. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Christopher,  bluntly.  "  I  have 
an  awkward  habit  of  speaking  the  truth ;  and  some 
peoi:)le  can't  bear  that,  not  even  when  it  is  spoken  for 
their  good." 

"That  depends  on  temper,  and  nerves,  and  things," 
said  Rosa,  deprecatingly ;  then  softly,  "I  could  bear 
anything  from  you  now." 


A  SIMPLETON.  57 

"  Indeed ! "  said  Christoplier,  grimly.  "  Well,  then,  I 
hear  you  had  no  sooner  got  rid  of  your  old  lover,  for 
loving  you  too  well  and  telling  you  the  truth,  than  you 
took  up  another,  —  some  flimsy  man  of  fashion,  who 
will  tell  you  any  lie  you  like." 

"  It  is  a  story,  a  wicked  story,"  cried  Eosa,  thoroughly 
alarmed.  "Me,  a  lover!  He  dances  like  an  angel;  I 
can't  help  that." 

"  Are  his  visits  at  your  house  like  angels'  —  few  and 
far  between  ?  "  And  the  true  lover's  brow  lowered  black 
upon  her  for  the  first  time. 

Kosa  changed  color,  and  her  eyes  fell  a  moment. 
"  Ask  papa,"  she  said.  "  His  father  was  an  old  friend 
of  papa's." 

"  Kosa,  you  are  prevaricating.  Young  men  do  not  call 
on  old  gentlemen  when  there  is  an  attractive  young  lady 
in  the  house." 

The  argument  was  getting  too  close  ;  so  Eosa  operated 
a  diversion.  "  So,"  said  she,  with  a  sudden  air  of  lofty 
disdain,  swiftly  and  adroitly  assumed,  "  you  have  had  me 
watched  ?  " 

"  Kot  I ;  I  only  hear  what  people  say." 

"  Listen  to  gossip  and  not  have  me  watched  !  That 
shows  how  little  you  really  cared  for  me.  Well,  if 
you  had,  you  would  have  made  a  little  discovery,  that 
is  all." 

"  Should  I  ?  "  said  Christopher,  puzzled.     "  Wliat  ?  " 

"  I  shall  not  tell  you.  Think  what  you  please.  Yes, 
sir,  you  would  have  found  out  that  I  take  long  walks 
every  day,  all  alone ;  and  what  is  more,  that  I  walk 
through  Gravesend,  hoping  —  like  a  goose  —  that  some- 
body really  loved  me,  and  would  meet  me,  and  beg  my 
pardon;  and  if  he  had,  I  should  have  told  him  it  was 
only  my  tongue,  and  my  nerves,  and  things  ;  my  heart 
was  his,  and  my  gratitude.     And  after  all;  what  do  words 


58  A  SIMPLETON. 

signify,  when  I  am  a  good,  obedient  girl  at  bottom  ?  So 
that  is  what  you  have  lost  by  not  condescending  to  look 
after  me.     Fine  love  !  —  Christopher,  beg  my  pardon." 

"  May  I  inquire  for  what  ?  " 

"Wli}^,  for  not  understanding  me;  for  not  knowing 
that  I  should  be  sorry  the  moment  you  were  gone.  I 
took  them  off  the  very  next  da}^,  to  please  you." 

"Took  off  whom?  — Oh,  I  understand.  You  did? 
Then  you  are  a  good  girl." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  I  was  ?  A  good,  obedient  girl,  and 
anything  but  a  flirt." 

"I  don't  say  that." 

"But  I  do.  Don't  interrupt.  It  is  to  your  good 
advice  I  owe  my  health ;  and  to  love  anybody  but  you, 
when  I  owe  you  my  love  and  my  life,  I  must  be  a  heart- 
less, ungrateful,  worthless  —  Oh,  Christopher,  forgive 
me  !     No,  no ;  I  mean,  beg  my  pardon." 

"I'll  do  both,"  said  Christopher,  taking  her  in  his 
arms.     "I  beg  your  pardon,  and  I  forgive  you." 

Rosa  leaned  her  head  tenderly  on  his  shoulder,  and 
began  to  sigh.  "  Oh,  dear,  dear  !  I  am  a  wicked,  foolish 
girl,  not  fit  to  walk  alone." 

On  this  admission,  Christopher  spoke  out,  and  urged 
her  to  put  an  end  to  all  these  unhappy  misunderstandings, 
and  to  his  new  torment,  jealousy,  by  marrying  him. 

"  And  so  I  would  this  very  minute,  if  papa  would  con- 
sent. But,"  said  she,  slyly,  "  you  never  can  be  so  foolish 
to  wish  it.  What !  a  wise  man  like  you  marry  a 
simpleton  ! " 

"  Did  I  ever  call  you  that  ? "  asked  Christopher, 
rej^roachfully. 

"  No,  dear ;  but  you  are  the  only  one  who  has  not ;  and 
perhaps  I  should  lose  even  the  one,  if  you  were  to  marry 
me.  Oh,  husbands  are  not  so  polite  as  lovers !  I  have 
observed  that,  simpleton  or  not." 


A    SIMPLETON.  59 

Christopher  assured  lior  that  he  took  quite  a  different 
view  of  her  character ;  he  believed  her  to  be  too  profound 
for  shallow  people  to  read  all  in  a  moment:  he  even 
intimated  that  he  himself  had  experienced  no  little  diffi- 
culty in  understanding  her  at  odd  times.  "  And  so,"  said 
he,  "they  turn  round  upon  you,  and  instead  of  saying, 
^  We  are  too  shallow  to  fathom  you,'  they  pretend  you 
are  a  simpleton." 

This  solution  of  the  mystery  had  never  occurred  to 
Kosa,  nor  indeed  was  it  likely  to  occur  to  any  creature 
less  ingenious  than  a  lover :  it  pleased  her  hugely ;  her 
fine  eyes  sparkled,  and  she  nestled  closer  still  to  the 
strong  arm  that  was  to  parry  every  ill,  -from  mortal 
disease  to  galling  epithets. 

She  listened  with  a  willing  ear  to  all  his  reasons,  his 
hopes,  his  fears,  and,  when  they  reached  her  father's 
door,  it  was  settled  that  he  should  dine  there  that  day, 
and  urge  his  suit  to  her  father  after  dinner.  She  would 
implore  the  old  gentleman  to  listen  to  it  favorably. 

The  lovers  parted,  and  Christopher  went  home  like 
one  who  has  awakened  from  a  hideous  dream  to  daylight 
and  happiness. 

He  had  not  gone  far  before  he  met  a  dashing  dogcart, 
driven  by  an  exquisite.  He  turned  to  look  after  it,  and 
saw  it  drive  up  to  Kent  Villa. 

In  a  moment  he  divined  his  rival,  and  a  sickness  of 
heart  came  over  him.  But  he  recovered  himself  directly, 
and  said,  "  If  that  is  the  fellow,  she  will  not  receive  him 
now." 

She  did  receive  him  though :  at  all  events,  the 
dogcart  stood  at  the  door,  and  its  master  remained 
inside. 

Christopher  stood,  and  counted  the  minutes  :  five,  ten, 
fifteen,  twenty  minutes,  and  still  the  dogcart  stood  there. 

It  was  more  than  he  could  bear.     He  turned  savagely, 


60  A   SIMPLETON. 

and  strode  back  to  Gravesend,  resolving  that  all  tliis 
torture  should  end  that  night,  one  way  or  other. 

Phoebe  Dale  was  the  daughter  of  a  farmer  in  Essex, 
and  one  of  the  happiest  young  women  in  England  till 
she  knew  Reginald  Falcon,  Esq. 

She  was  reared  on  wholesome  food,  in  wholesome  air, 
and  used  to  churn  butter,  make  bread,  cook  a  bit  now 
and  then,  cut  out  and  sew  all  her  own  dresses,  get  up  liei 
own  linen,  make  hay,  ride  anything  on  four  legs  ;  and, 
for  all  that,  was  a  great  reader,  and  taught  in  the  Sunday 
school  to  oblige  the  vicar ;  wrote  a  neat  hand,  and  was  a 
good  arithmetician,  kept  all  the  house  accounts  and  farm 
accounts.  She  was  a  musician,  too,  —  not  profound,  but 
very  correct.  She  would  take  her  turn  at  the  harmonium 
in  church,  and,  when  she  was  there,  you  never  heard  a 
wrong  note  in  the  bass,  nor  an  inappropriate  flourish, 
nor  bad  time.  She  could  sing,  too,  but  never  would, 
except  her  part  in  a  psalm.  Her  voice  was  a  deep  con- 
tralto, and  she  chose  to  be  ashamed  of  this  heavenly 
organ,  because  a  pack  of  envious  girls  had  giggled,  and 
said  it  was  like  a  man's. 

In  short,  her  natural  ability  and  the  range  and  variety 
of  her  useful  accomplishments  were  considerable ;  not 
tliat  she  was  a  prodigy  ;  but  she  belonged  to  a  small  class 
of  women  in  this  island  who  are  not  too  high  to  use  their 
arms,  nor  too  low  to  cultivate  their  minds ;  and,  having 
a  faculty  and  a  habit  deplorably  rare  amongst  her  sex, 
viz..  Attention,  she  had  profited  by  her  miscellaneous 
advantages. 

Her  figure  and  face  both  told  her  breed  at  once :  here 
was  an  old  English  pastoral  beauty ;  not  the  round-backed, 
narrow-chested  cottager,  but  the  well-fed,  erect  rustic, 
with  broad,  full  bust  and  massive  shoulder,  and  arm  as 
hard  as  a  rock  with  health  and  constant  usej  a  hand 


A  SIMPLETON.  61 

finely  cut,  though  neitlier  small  nor  very  white,  and  just 
a  little  hard  inside,  compared  with  Luxury's  soft  palm  ; 
a  face  honest,  fair,  and  rather  large  than  small;  not 
beautiful,  but  exceedingly  comely ;  a  complexion  not 
pink  and  white,  but  that  delicately  blended  brickdusty 
color,  which  tints  the  whole  cheek  in  fine  gradation,  out- 
lasts other  complexions  twenty  years,  and  beautifies  the 
true  Northern,  even  in  old  age.  Gray,  limpid,  honest, 
point-blank,  searching  eyes  ;  hair  true  nut-brown,  with- 
out a  shade  of  red  or  black  ;  and  a  high,  smooth  forehead, 
full  of  sense.  Across  it  ran  one  deep  wrinkle  that  did 
not  belong  to  her  youth.  That  wrinkle  was  the  brand  of 
trouble,  the  line  of  agony.  It  had  come  of  loving  above 
her,  yet  below  her,  and  of  loving  an  egotist. 

Three  years  before  our  tale  commenced,  a  gentleman's 
horse  ran  away  with  him,  and  threw  him  on  a  heap  of 
stones  by  the  roadside,  not  very  far  from  Farmer  Dale's 
gate.  The  farmer  had  him  taken  in.  The  doctor  said 
he  must  not  be  moved.  He  was  insensible ;  his  cheek 
like  delicate  wax ;  his  fair  hair  like  silk  stained  with 
blood.  He  became  Phoebe's  patient,  and,  in  due  course, 
her  convalescent :  his  pale,  handsome  face  and  fasci- 
nating manners  gained  one  charm  more  from  weakness  ; 
his  vices  were  in  abeyance. 

The  womanly  nurse's  heart  yearned  over  her  child; 
for  he  was  feeble  as  a  child;  and,  when  he  got  well 
enough  to  amuse  his  weary  hours  by  making  love  to  her, 
and  telling  her  a  pack  of  arrant  lies,  she  was  a  ready 
dupe.  He  was  to  marry  her  as  soon  as  ever  his  old 
uncle  died,  and  left  him  the  means,  etc.,  etc.  At  last  he 
got  well  enough  to  leave  her,  and  went  away,  her  open 
admirer  and  secret  lover.  He  borrowed  twenty  pounds 
of  her  the  day  he  left. 

He  used  to  write  her  charming  letters,  and  feed  the 
flame  ;  but  one  day  her  father  sent  her  up  to  London,  on 


62  A   SIMPLETON. 

his  own  business,  all  of  a  sudden,  and  she  called  on  ]\Ir. 
Falcon  at  his  real  address.  She  found  he  did  not  live 
there  —  only  received  letters.  However,  half-a-crown 
soon  bought  his  real  address,  and  thither  Phoebe  pro- 
ceeded with  a  troubled  heart,  for  she  suspected  that  her 
true  lover  was  in  debt  or  trouble,  and  obliged  to  hide. 
Well,  he  must  be  got  out  of  it,  and  hide  at  the  farm 
meantime. 

So  the  loving  girl  knocked  at  the  door,  asked  for  Mr. 
Falcon,  and  was  shown  in  to  a  lady  rather  showily  dressed, 
who  asked  her  business. 

Phoebe  Dale  stared  at  her,  and  then  turned  pale  as 
ashes.    She  was  paralyzed,  and  could  not  find  her  tongue. 

^^Why,  what  is  the  matter  now?"  said  the  other, 
sharply. 

"  Are  you  married  to  Eeginald  Falcon  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  am.     Look  at  my  wedding-ring." 

"Then  I  am  not  wanted  here,"  faltered  Phoebe,  ready 
to  sink  on  the  floor. 

"  Certainly  not,  if  you  are  one  of  the  bygones,"  said 
the  woman,  coarsely  ;  and  Phoebe  Dale  waited  to  hear  no 
more,  but  found  her  way.  Heaven  knows  hoAV,  into  the 
street,  and  there  leaned,  half-fainting,  on  a  rail,  till  a 
policeman  came,  and  told  her  she  had  been  drinking, 
and  suggested  a  cool  cell  as  the  best  cure. 

"  Not  drink ;  only  a  breaking  heart,"  said  she,  in  her 
low,  mellow  voice  that  few  could  resist. 

He  got  her  a  glass  of  water,  drove  away  the  boys  that 
congregated  directly,  and  she  left  the  street.  But  she 
soon  came  back  again,  and  waited  about  for  Eeginald 
Falcon. 

It  was  night  when  he  appeared.  She  seized  him  by 
the  breast,  and  taxed  him  with  his  villany. 

What  Avith  her  iron  grasp,  pale  face,  and  flashing  eyes, 
he  lost  his  cool  impudence,  and  blurted  out  excuses.     It 


A   SIMPLETON.  .  63 

was  an  old  and  unfortunate  connection  ;  he  would  give 
the  world  to  dissolve  it,  if  he  could  do  it  like  a  gentleman. 

Phoebe  told  him  to  please  himself :  he  must  part  with 
one  or  the  other. 

"  Don't  talk  nonsense/'  said  this  man  of  brass ;  "  I'll 
un-Falcon  her  on  the  spot." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Phoebe.  "  I  am  going  home  ;  and, 
if  you  are  not  there  by  to-morrow  at  noon  "  —  She  said 
no  more,  but  looked  a  great  deal.  Then  she  departed, 
and  refused  him  her  hand  at  parting.  ^'  AVe  will  see 
about  that  by  and  by,"  said  she. 

At  noon  my  lord  came  down  to  the  farm,  and,  unfor- 
tunately for  Phoebe,  played  the  penitent  so  skilfully  for 
about  a  month,  that  she  forgave  him,  and  loved  him  all 
the  more  for  having  so  nearly  parted  with  him. 

Her  peace  was  not  to  endure  long.  He  was  detected 
in  an  intrigue  in  the  very  village. 

The  insult  struck  so  home  that  Phoebe  herself,  to  her 
parents'  satisfaction,  ordered  him  out  of  the  house  at 
once. 

But,  when  he  was  gone,  she  had  fits  of  weeping,  and 
could  settle  to  nothing  for  a  long  time. 

Months  had  elapsed,  and  she  was  getting  a  sort  of  dull 
tranquillity,  when,  one  evening,  taking  a  walk  she  had 
often  with  him,  and  mourning  her  solitude  and  wasted 
affection,  he  waylaid  her,  and  clung  to  her  knees,  and 
shed  crocodile  tears  on  her  hands,  and,  after  a  long 
resistance,  violent  at  first,  but  fainter  and  fainter,  got 
her  in  his  power  again,  and  that  so  completely  that  she 
met  him  several  times  by  night,  being  ashamed  to  be 
seen  with  him  in  those  parts  by  day. 

This  ended  in  fresh  promises  of  marriage,  and  in  a 
constant  correspondence  by  letter.  This  pest  knew 
exactly  how  to  talk  to  a  woman,  and  how  to  write  to  one. 
His  letters  fed  the  unhappy  flame ;  and,  mind  you,  he 


64  A   SIMPLETON. 

sometimes  deceived  himself,  and  thouglit  lie  loved  lier  • 
but  it  was  only  himself  he  loved.  She  was  an  invaluable 
lover ;  a  faithful,  disinterested  friend ;  hers  was  a  vile 
bargain ;  his,  an  excellent  one,  and  he  clung  to  it. 

And  so  they  went  on.  She  detected  him  in  another 
infidelity,  and  reproached  him  bitterly  ;  but  she  had  no 
longer  the  strength  to  break  with  him.  Nevertheless, 
this  time  she  had  the  sense  to  make  a  struggle.  She 
implored  him,  on  her  very  knees,  to  show  her  a  little 
mercy  in  return  for  all  her  love.  "  For  pity's  sake,  leave 
me  !  "  she  cried.  -"  You  are  strong,  and  I  am  weak.  You 
can  end  it  forever,  and  pray  do.  You  don't  want  me ; 
you  don't  value  me :  then,  leave  me,  once  and  for  all, 
and  end  this  hell  you  keep  me  in." 

No;  he  could  not,  or  he  would  not,  leave  her  alone. 
Look  at  a  bird's,  wings  !  —  how  like  an  angel's  !  Yet  so 
vile  a  thing  as  a  bit  of  birdlime  subdues  them  utterly ; 
and  such  was  the  fascinating  power  of  this  mean  man 
over  this  worthy  woman.  She  was  a  reader,  a  thinker, 
a  model  of  respectability,  industry,  and  sense ;  a  business- 
woman, keen  and  x^ractical;  could  encounter  sharp  hands 
in  sharp  trades ;  could  buy  or  sell  hogs,  calves,  or  beasts 
with  any  farmer  or  butcher  in  the  country,  yet  no  match 
for  a  cunning  fool.  She  had  enshrined  an  idol  in  her 
heart,  and  that  heart  adored  it',  and  clung  to  it,  though 
the  superior  head  saw  through  it,  dreaded  it,  despised  it. 

No  wonder  three  years  of  this  had  drawn  a  tell-tale 
wrinkle  across  the  j)olished  brow. 

Phoebe  Dale  had  not  received  a  letter  for  some  days ; 
that  roused  her  suspicion  and  stung  her  jealousy;  she 
came  up  to  London  by  fast  train,  and  down  to  Gravesend 
directly. 

She  had  a  thick  veil  that  concealed  her  features ;  and 
with  a  little  inquiring  and  bribing,  she  soon  found  out 


^^ 


A    SLMTLETON.  65 

Hiat  Mr.  Falcon  was  tliere  with  a  showy  dogcart.  "Ah!" 
thought  Phcebe,  "he  has  won  a  little  money  at  play  or 
pigeon-sliooting ;  so  now  he  has  no  need  of  me." 

She  took  the  lodgings  opposite  him,  but  observed 
nothing  till  this  very  morning,  when  she  saw  him  throw 
off  his  dressing-gown  all  in  a  hurry  and  fling  on  his  coat. 
She  tied  on  her  bonnet  as  rapidly,  and  followed  him, 
until  she  discovered  the  object  of  his  pursuit.  It  was  a 
surprise  to  her,  and  a  puzzle,  to  see  another  man  step  in, 
as  if  to  take  her  part.  But  as  Reginald  still  followed  the 
loitering  pair,  she  followed  Reginald,  till  he  turned  and 
found  her  at  his  heels,  white  and  lowering. 

She  confronted  him  in  threatening  silence  for  some 
time,  during  which  he  prepared  his  defence. 

"  So  it  is  a  lady  this  time,"  said  she,  in  her  low,  rich 
voice,  sternly. 

"Is  it?" 

"Yes,  and  I  should  say  she  is  bespoke — that  tall,  fine- 
built  gentleman.  But  I  suppose  you  care  no  more  for 
his  feelings  than  you  do  for  mine." 

"  Phoebe,"  said  the  egotist,  "  I  will  not  try  to  deceive 
you.     You  have  often  said  you  are  my  true  friend." 

"  And  I  think  I  have  proved  it." 

"  That  you  have.  Well,  .then,  be  my  true  friend  now. 
I  am  in  love  —  really  in  love  —  this  time.  You  and  I 
only  torment  each  other ;  let  us  part  friends.  There  are 
plenty  of  farmers  in  Essex  that  would  jump  at  you.  As 
for  me,  I'll  tell  you  the  truth ;  I  have  run  through  every 
farthing;  my  estate  mortgaged  beyond  its  value — two  or 
three  writs  out  against  me  —  that  is  why  I  slipped  down 
here.  My  only  chance  is  to  marry  Money.  Her  father 
knows  I  have  land,  and  he  knows  nothing  about  the 
mortgages ;  she  is  his  only  daughter.  Don't  stand  in 
my  way,  that  is  a  good  girl ;  be  my  friend,  as  you  ahvays 
were.     Hang  it  all,  Phoebe,  can't  you  say  a  word  to  a 


66  A   SIMrLETON. 

fellow  that  is  driven  into  a  corner,  instead  of  glaring  at 
me  like  that  ?  There!  I  know  it  is  nngrateful ;  butwluit 
can  a  fellow  do  ?  I  must  live  like  a  gentleman  or  else 
take  a  dose  of  prussic  acid ;  you  don't  want  to  drive  me 
to  that.    Why,  you  proposed  to  part,  last  time,  yourself." 

She  gave  him  one  majestic,  indescribable  look,  that 
made  even  his  callous  heart  quiver,  and  turned  away. 

Then  the  scamp  admired  her  for  despising  him,  and 
could  not  bear  to  lose  her.  He  followed  her,  and  put 
forth  all  those  j^owers  of  persuading  and  soothing,  Avhich 
had  so  often  proved  irresistible.  But  this  time  it  was  in 
vain.  The  insult  was  too  savage,  and  his  egotism  too 
brutal,  for  honeyed  phrases  to  blind  her. 

After  enduring  it  a  long  time  with  a  silent  shudder, 
she  turned  and  shook  him  fiercely  off  her  like  some 
poisonous  reptile. 

"  Do  you  Avant  me  to  kill  you  ?  I'd  liever  kill  myself 
for  loving  such  a  thing  as  thou.  Go  thy  ways,  man,  and 
let  me  go  mine."  In  her  passion  she  dropped  her  culti- 
vation for  once,  and  went  back  to  the  thou  and  thee  of 
her  grandam. 

He  colored  up  and  looked  spiteful  enough ;  but  he  soon 
recovered  his  cynical  egotism,  and  went  off  whistling  an 
operatic  passage. 

She  crept  to  her  lodgings,  and  buried  her  face  in  her 
pillow,  and  rocked  herself  to  and  fro  for  hours  in  the 
bitterest  agony  the  heart  can  feel,  groaning  over  her 
great  affection  wasted,  flung  into  the  dirt. 

While  she  was  thus,  she  heard  a  little  commotion. 
She  came  to  the  window  and  saw  Falcon,  exquisitely 
dressed,  drive  off  in  his  dogcart,  attended  by  the  accla- 
mations of  eight  boys.  She  saw  at  a  glance  he  was  gone 
courting;  her  knees  gave  way  under  her,  and,  such  is 
the  power  of  the  mind,  this  stalwart  girl  lay  weak  as 
water  on  the  sofa,  and  had  not  the  power  to  go  home, 


A  siMrLp:TON.  67 

thougli  just  tlieu  she  had  but  one  wish,  one  hope  —  to 
see  her  idol's  face  no  more,  nor  hear  his  wheedling 
tongue,  that  had  ruined  her  peace. 

The  exquisite  Mr.  Falcon  was  received  by  Rosa  Lusi- 
gnan  with  a  certain  tremor  that  flattered  his  hopes.  He 
told  her,  in  charming  language,  how  he  had  admired  lier 
at  first  sight,  then  esteemed  her,  then  loved  her. 

She  blushed  and  panted,  and  showed  more  than  once  a 
desire  to  interrui^t  him,  but  was  too  polite.  She  heard 
him  out  with  rising  dismay,  and  he  offered  her  his  hand 
and  heart. 

But  by  this  time  she  had  made  up  her  mind  what  to 
say.  "  0  ^Ir.  Falcon ! "  she  cried,  "  how  can  you  speak 
to  me  in  this  way  ?  Why,  I  am  engaged.  Didn  t  you 
know  ?  " 

''  jS'o  j  I  am  sure  you  are  not,  or  you  would  never  have 
given  me  the  encouragement  you  have." 

"  Oh,  all  engaged  young  ladies  flirt  —  a  little  ;  and 
everybody  here  knows  I  am  engaged  to  Dr.  Staines." 

''  Why,  I  never  saw  him  here." 

Rosa's  tact  was  a  quality  that  came  and  went ;  so  she 
blushed,  and  faltered  out,  "We  had  a  little  tiff,  as  lovers 
will." 

"  And  you  did  me  the  honor  to  select  me  as  cat's-paw 
to  bring  him  on  again.     Was  not  that  rather  heartless  ?  " 

Rosa's  fitful  tact  returned  to  her. 

"  Oh,  sir,  do  not  think  so  ill  of  me.  I  am  not  heartless, 
I  am  only  unwise ;  and  you  are  so  superior  to  the  people 
about  you;  I  could  not  help  appreciating  you,  and  I 
thought  you  knew  I  was  engaged,  and  so  I  was  less  on 
my  guard.  I  hope  I  shall  not  lose  your  esteem,  though 
I  have  no  right  to  anything  more.  Ah !  I  see  by  your 
face  I  have  behaved  very  ill :  pray  forgive  me." 

And  with  this  she  turned  on  the  waters  of  the  Nile, 
better  known  to  you,  perhaps,  as  "  crocodile  tears." 


^  A   SIMrLETON. 

Falcon  was  a  gentleman  on  the  surface,  and  knew 
he  should  only  make  matters  worse  by  quarrelling  with 
her.  So  he  ground  his  teeth,  and  said,  "  IMay  your  own 
heart  never  feel  the  pangs  you  have  inflicted.  I  shall 
love  you  and  remember  you  till  my  dying  day." 

He  bowed  ceremoniously  and  left  her. 

"  Ay,"  said  he  to  himself,  "  I  ivill  remember  you,  you 
heartless  jilt,  and  the  man  you  have  jilted  me  for. 
Staines  is  his  d d  name,  is  it  ?  " 

He  drove  back  crestfallen,  bitter,  and,  for  once  in  his 
life,  heart-sick,  and  drew  up  at  his  lodgings.  Here  he 
found  attendants  waiting  to  receive  him. 

A  sheriff's  officer  took  his  dogcart  and  horse  under  a 
judgment;  the  disturbance  this  caused  collected  a  tiny 
crowd,  gaping  and  grinning,  and  brought  Phoebe's  white 
face  and  eyes  swollen  with  weeping  to  the  window. 

Falcon  saAv  her  and  brazened  it  out.  "Take  them," 
said  he,  with  an  oath.  "  I'll  have  a  better  turn-out  by 
to-morrow,  breakfast-time." 

The  crowd  cheered  him  for  his  spirit. 

He  got  down,  lit  a  cigar,  chaffed  the  officer  and  the 
crowd,  and  was,  on  the  whole,  admired. 

Then  another  officer,  who  had  been  hunting  him  in 
couples  with  the  other,  stepped  forward  and  took  Aim, 
for  the  balance  of  a  judgment  debt. 

Then  the  swell's  cigar  fell  out  of  his  mouth,  and  he 
was  seriously  alarmed.  "Why,  Cartwright,"  said  he, 
"this  is  too  bad.  You  j)i*oiiiised  not  to  see  me  this 
month.     You  passed  me  full  in  the  Strand." 

"  You  are  mistaken,  sir,"  said  Cartwright,  with  sullen 
irony.  "  I've  got  a  twin-brother ;  a  many  takes  him  for 
me,  till  they  finds  the  difference."  Then,  lowering  his 
voice,  "  AVliat  call  had  you  to  boast  in  your  club  you  had 
made  it  right  with  Bill  Cartwright,  and  he'd  never  see 
you  ?     That  got  about,  and  so  I  was  bound  to  see  you  or 


A   SIMPLETON.      '  69 

lose  luy  bread.  Tliere's  one  or  two  I  don't  see,  but  then 
they  are  real  gentlemen,  and  thinks  of  me  as  well  as 
theirselves,  and  doesn't  blab." 

"  I  must  have  been  drunk,"  said  Falcon  apologetically. 

"  More  likely  blowing  a  cloud.  When  you  young  gents 
gets  a-smoking  together,  you'd  tell  on  your  own  mothers. 
Come  along,  colonel,  off  we  go  to  Merrimashee.'^ 

"  Why,  it  is  only  twenty-six  pounds.  I  have  paid  the 
rest." 

"  More  than  that ;  there's  the. costs." 

"  Come  in,  and  I'll  settle  it." 

"  All  right,  sir.     Jem,  watch  the  back." 

"  Oh,  I  shall  not  try  that  game  with  a  sharp  hand  like 
you,  Cartwright." 

"You  had  better  not,  sir,"  said  Cartwright;  but  he 
was  softened  a  little  by  the  compliment. 

When  they  were  alone,  Falcon,  began  by  saying  it  was 
a  bad  job  for  him. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  was  a-going  to  pay  it  all  in  a 
moment." 

"  I  can't ;  but  I  have  got  a  friend  over  the  way  that 
could,  if  she  chose.  She  has  always  got  money,  some- 
how." 

"  Oh,  if  it  is  a  she,  it  is  all  right." 

"  I  don't  know.  She  has  quarrelled  with  me ;  but 
give  me  a  little  time.  Here  !  have  a  glass  of  sherry 
and  a  biscuit,  while  I  try  it  on." 

Having  thus  muffled  Cartwright,  this  man  of  the  world 
opened  his  window  and  looked  out.  The  crowd  had 
followed  the  captured  dogcart,  so  he  had  the  street  to 
himself.  He  beckoned  to  Phoebe,  and  after  considerable 
hesitation  she  opened  her  window. 

"  Phoebe,"  said  he,  in  tones  of  tender  regret,  admirably 
natural  and  sweet,  "  I  shall  never  offend  you  again ;  so 
forgive  me  this  once.     I  have  given  that  girl  up." 


70  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Not  you,"  said  Phoebe,  sullenly. 

"  Indeed  I  have.  After  our  quarrel,  I  started  to  pro- 
pose to  her ;  but  I  had  not  the  heart ;  I  came  back  and 
left  her." 

"  Time  will  shoAV.  If  it  is  not  her,  it  will  be  some 
other,  you  false,  heartless  villain." 

"  Come,  I  say,  don't  be  so  hard  on  me  in  trouble.  I 
am  going  to  prison." 

''  So  I  suppose." 

"  Ah !  but  it  is  worse  than  you  think.  I  am  only  taken 
for  a  paltry  thirty  pounds  or  so." 

"  Thirty-three,  fifteen,  five,"  suggested  Cartwright,  in 
a  muiiled  whisper,  his  mouth  being  full  of  biscuit. 

"  But  once  they  get  me  to  a  sponging-house,  detainers 
will  pour  in,  and  my  cruel  creditors  will  confine  me  for 
life." 

"  It  is  the  best  place  for  you.  It  will  put  a  stop  to 
your  wickedness,  and  I  shall  be  at  peace.  That's  what 
I  have  never  known,  night  or  day,  this  three  years." 

"  But  you  will  not  be  happy  if  you  see  me  go  to  prison 
before  your  eyes.  Were  you  ever  inside  a  prison  ? 
Just  think  what  it  must  be  to  be  cooped  up  in  tliose  cold 
grim  cells  all  alone  ;  for  they  use  a  debtor  like  a  criminal 
now." 

Phoebe  shuddered ;  but  she  said,  bravely,  "  Well,  tell 
them  you  have  been  a-courting.  There  was  a  time  I'd 
have  died  sooner  than  see  a  hair  of  your  head  hurt ;  but 
it  is  all  over  now ;  you  have  worn  me  out." 

Then  she  began  to  cry. 

Falcon  heaved  a  deep  sigh.  "It  is  no  more  than  I 
deserve,"  said  he.  "  I'll  pack  up  my  things,  and  go  with 
the  officer.  Give  me  one  kind  word  at  parting,  and  I'll 
think  of  it  in  my  prison,  night  and  day." 

He  withdrew  from  the  window  with  another  deep 
sigh,  told  Cartwright,  cheerfully,  it  was  all  right,  and 
proceeded  to  pack  up  his  traps. 


A  SBIPLETON.  71 

Meantime  Phoebe  sat  at  her  window  and  cried  bitterly. 
Her  words  had  been  braver  than  her  heart. 

Falcon  managed  to  pay  the  trifle  he  owed  for  the 
lodgings,  and  presently  he  came  out  with  Cartwright, 
and  the  attendant  called  a  cab.  His  things  were  thrown 
in,  and  Cartwright  invited  him  to  follow.  Then  he 
looked  up,  and  cast  a  genuine  look  of  terror  and  misery 
at  Phoebe.  He'thought  she  would  have  relented  before 
this. 

Her  heart  gave  way  ;  I  am  afraid  it  would,  even  with- 
out that  piteous  and  mute  appeal.  She  opened  the  win- 
dow, and  asked  Mr.  Cartwright  if  he  would  be  good 
enough  to  come  and  speak  to  her. 

Cartwright  committed  his  prisoner  to  the  subordinate, 
and  knocked  at  the  door  of  Phoebe's  lodgings.  She 
came  down  herself  and  let  him  in.  She  led  the  way 
upstairs,  motioned  him  to  a  seat,  sat  down  by  him,  and 
began  to  cry  again.     She  was  thoroughly  unstrung. 

Cartwright  was  human,  and  muttered  some  w^ords  of 
regret  that  a  poor  fellow  must  do  his  dut}^ 

"  Oh,  it  is  not  that,"  sobbed  Phoebe.  "  I  can  find  the 
money.  I  have  found  more  for  him  than  that,  many's 
the  time."  Then,  drying  her  eyes,  "But  you  must  know 
the  world,  and  I  dare  say  you  can  see  how  'tis  with  me." 

"  I  can,"  said  Cartwright,  gravely.  "  I  overheard  you 
and  him ;  and,  my  girl,  if  you  take  my  advice,  Avhy,  let 
him  go.  He  is  a  gentleman  skin  deep,  and  dresses  well, 
and  can  palaver  a  girl,  no  doubt ;  but  bless  your  heart, 
I  can  see  at  a  glance  he  is  not  worth  your  little  finger, 
an  honest,  decent  young  woman  Hke  you.  Why,  it  is 
like  butter  fighting  with  stone.  Let  him  go ;  or  I  will 
tell  you  what  it  is,  you  will  hang  for  him  some  day,  or 
else  make  away  with  yourself." 

"  Ay,  sir,"  said  Phoebe,  "  that's  likelier ;  and  if  I  was 
to  let  him  go  to  prison,  I  should  sit  me  down  and  think 


72  A   SIMPLETON. 

of  his  parting  look,  and  I  should  fling  myself  into  the 
water  for  him  before  I  was  a  day  older." 

"Ye   mustn't   do  that   anyway.      While   there's   life 
there's  hope." 

Upon  this  Phoebe  put  him  a  question,  and  found  him 
ready  to  do  anything  for  her,  in  reason  —  provided  he 
was  paid  for  it.  And  the  end  of  it  all  was,  the  prisoner 
was  conveyed  to  London ;  Phoebe  got  the  requisite  sum  ; 
Falcon  was  deposited  in  a  third-class  carriage  bound  for 
Essex.  Phoebe  paid  his  debt,  and  gave  Cartwright  a 
present,  and  away  rattled  the  train  conveying  the  hand- 
some egotist  into  temporary  retirement,  to  wit,  at  a 
village  five  miles  from  the  Dales'  farm.  She  was  too 
ashamed  of  her  young  gentleman  and  herself  to  be  seen 
with  him  in  her  native  village.  On  the  road  down  he 
was  full  of  little  practical  attentions ;  she  received  them 
coldly  ;  his  mellifluous  mouth  was  often  at  her  ear,  pour- 
ing thanks  and  praises  into  it ;  she  never  vouchsafed  a 
word  of  reply.  All  she  did  was  to  shudder  now  and 
then,  and  cry  at  intervals.  Yet,  whenever  he  left  her 
side,  her  whole  body  became  restless ;  and  when  he  came 
back  to  her,  a  furtive  thrill  announced  the  insane  com- 
placency his  bare  contact  gave  her.  Surely,  of  all  tlie 
forms  in  which  love  torments  the  heart,  this  was  the 
most  terrible  and  pitiable. 

Mr.  Lusignan  found  his  daughter  in  tears. 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter  now?"  said  he,  a  little 
peevishly.  "  We  have  had  nothing  of  this  sort  of  thing 
lately." 

"  Papa,  it  is  because  I  have  misconducted  myself.  I 
am  a  foolish,  imprudent  girl.  I  have  been  flirting  with 
Mr.  Falcon,  and  he  has  taken  a  cntel  advantage  of  it  — 
proposed  to  me  —  this  very  afternoon  —  actually  ! " 

"  Has  he  ?     Well,  he  is  a  fine  fellow,  and  has  a  landed 


A   SIMPLETON.  73 

estate  in  Norfolk.  There's  nothing  like  land.  They 
may  well  call  it  real  property  —  there  is  something  to 
show  ;  you  can  walk  on  it,  and  ride  on  it,  and  look  out 
of  window  at  it :  that  is  property." 

"  Oh,  papa  !  what  are  you  saying  ?     Would  you  have 
me  marry  one  man  when  I  belong  to  another  ?  " 
"  But  you  don't  belong  to  any  one  except  to  me." 
"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  do.     I  belong  to  my  dear  Christopher." 
"  Why,  you  dismissed  him  before  my  very  eyes ;  and 
very  ill  you  behaved,  begging  your  pardon.     The  man 
was  your  able  physician  and  your  best  friend,  and  said 
nothing  that  was  not  for  your  good;   and  you   treated 
him  like  a  dog." 

"  Yes,  but  he  has  apologized." 
"  What  for  ?  being  treated  like  a  dog  ?  " 
"  Oh,    don't   say   so,   papa !      At   all   events,   he   has 
apologized,  as   a   gentleman   should   whenever  —  when- 
ever "  — 

"  Whenever  a  lady  is  in  the  wrong." 
"  Don't,  papa ;  and  I  have  asked  him  to  dinner." 
"  With  all  my  heart.     I  shall  l)e  downright  glad  to  see 
him  again.     You  used  him  abominably." 

"  But  you  need  not  keep  saying  so,"  whined  Rosa. 
"  And  that  is  not  all,  dear  papa ;  the  worst  of  it  is,  Mr. 
Falcon  proposing  to  me  has  opened  my  eyes.  I  am  not 
fit  to  be  trusted  alone.  I  am  too  fond  of  dancing,  and 
flirting  will  follow  somehow.  Oh,  think  how  ill  I  was 
a  few  months  ago,  and  how  unhappy  you  were  about  me  ! 
They  were  killing  me.  He  came  and  saved  me.  Yes, 
papa,  I  owe  all  this  health  and  strength  to  Christopher. 
I  did  take  them  off,  the  very  next  day,  and  see  the  effect 
of  it  and  my  long  walks.  I  owe  him  my  life,  and  what 
I  value  far  more,  my  good  looks.  La  !  I  wish  I  had  not 
told  you  that.  And  after  all  this,  don't  I  belong  to  my 
Christopher  ?     How  could  I  be  happy  or  respect  myself 


74  A  sunipleton. 

if  I  married  any  one  else  ?  And  oh,  papa !  he  looks  wan 
and  worn.  He  has  been  fretting  for  his  Simpleton.  Oh, 
dear !  I  mustn't  think  of  that  —  it  makes  me  cry ;  and 
yon  don't  like  scenes,  do  you  ?  " 

"Hate 'em!" 

"Well,  then,"  said  Eosa,  coaxingly,  "I'll  tell  you  how 
to  end  them.  Marry  your  Simpleton  to  the  only  man 
who  is  fit  to  take  care  of  her.  Oh,  pa^^a !  think  of  his 
dee]3,  deep  affection  for  me,  and  pray  don't  snub  him  if 
—  by  any  chance  —  after  dinner  —  he  should  hap2^en  to 
ask  you  —  something." 

"Oh,  then  it  is  possible  that,  by  the  merest  chance, 
the  gentleman  you  have  accidentally  asked  to  dinner, 
may,  by  some  strange  fortuity,  be  surprised  into  asking 
me  a  second  time  for  something  very  much  resembling 
my  daughter's  hand  —  eh  ?  " 

Eosa  colored  high.  "  He  might,  you  know.  How  can 
I  tell  what  gentlemen  Avill  say  when  the  ladies  have 
retired  and  they  are  left  alone  with  —  with  "  — 

"  With  the  bottle.  Ay,  that's  true  ;  when  the  wine  is 
in,  the  wit  is  out." 

Said  Eosa,  "  Well,  if  he  should  happen  to  be  so  foolish, 
pray  think  of  me  ;  of  all  we  owe  him,  and  how  much  I 
love  him,  and  ought  to  love  him."  She  then  bestowed  a 
propitiatory  kiss,  and  ran  off  to  dress  for  dinner ;  it  was 
a  much  longer  operation  to-day  than  usual. 

Dr.  Staines  was  punctual.  Mr.  Lusignan  commented 
favorably  on  that. 

"  He  always  is,"  said  Eosa,  eagerly. 

They  dined  together.  Mr.  Lusignan  chatted  freely, 
but  Staines  and  Eosa  were  under  a  feeling  of  restraint, 
Staines  in  particular;  he  could  not  help  feeling  that 
before  long  his  fate  must  be  settled.  He  would  either 
obtain  Eosa's  hand,  or  have  to  resign  her  to  some  man 
of  fortune  who  would  step  in ;  for  beauty  such  as  hers 


A   SIMrLETON.  75 

could  not  long  lack  brilliant  offers.  Longing,  though 
dreading,  to  know  his  fate,  he  was  glad  when  dinner 
ended. 

Eosa  sat  with  them  a  little  while  after  dinner,  then 
rose,  bestowed  another  propitiatory  kiss  on  her  father's 
head,  and  retired  with  a  modest  blush,  and  a  look  at 
Christopher  that  was  almost  divine. 

It  inspired  him  with  the  courage  of  lions,  and  he 
commenced  the  attack  at  once. 


76  A   SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER   V. 

"Mr.  Lusignan,"  said  he,  "the  last  time  I  was  here 
you  gave  me  some  hopes  that  you  might  be  prevailed  on 
to  trust  that  angel's  health  and  happiness  to  my  care." 

"Well,  Dr.  Staines,  I  will  not  beat  about  the  bush 
with  you.  My  judgment  is  still  against  this  marriage ; 
you  need  not  look  so  alarmed ;  it  does  not  follow  I  shall 
forbid  it.  I  feel  I  have  hardly  a  right  to,  for  my  Eosa 
might  be  in  her  grave  now  but  for  you;  and,  another 
thing,  when  I  interfered  between  you  two  I  had  no  proof 
you  were  a  man  of  ability ;  I  had  only  your  sweetheart's 
word  for  that ;  and  I  never  knew  a  case  before  where  a 
young  lady's  swan  did  not  turn  out  a  goose.  Your  rare 
ability  gives  you  another  chance  in  the  professional 
battle  that  is  before  you ;  indeed,  it  puts  a  different  face 
on  the  whole  matter.  I  still  think  it  premature.  Come 
now,  would  it  not  be  much  wiser  to  wait,  and  secure  a 
good  i)ractice  before  you  marry  a  mere  child  ?  There  ! 
there  !  I  only  advise ;  I  don't  dictate  ;  you  shall  settle 
it  together,  you  two  wiseacres.  Only  I  must  make  one 
positive  condition.  I  have  nothing  to  give  my  child 
during  my  lifetime ;  but  one  thing  I  have  done  for  her ; 
years  ago  I  insured  my  life  for  six  thousand  pounds  ; 
and  you  must  do  the  same.  I  will  not  have  her  thrown 
on  the  world  a  widow,  with  a  child  or  two,  perhaps,  to 
support,  and  not  a  farthing ;  you  know  the  insecurity  of 
mortal  life." 

"I  do !  I  do !  Why,  of  course  I  will  insure  my  life, 
and  pay  the  annual  premium  out  of  my  little  capital, 
until  income  flows  in." 


A  SIMPLETON.  77 

"  Will  you  hand  mo  over  a  sum  sufficient  to  pay  that 
premium  for  five  years  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure." 

"Then  I  fear,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  sigh, 
"my  opposition  to  the  match  must  cease  here.  I  still 
recommend  you  to  wait;  but  —  there!  I  might  just  as 
well  advise  fire  and  tow  to  live  neighbors  and  keep  cool.'' 

To  show  the  injustice  of  this  simile,  Christophca- 
Staines  started  up  with  his  eyes  all  aglow,  and  cried  out, 
rapturously,  "  Oh,  sir,  may  I  tell  her  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  may  tell  her,"  said  Lusignan,  with  a  smile. 
"  Stop  —  what  are  you  going  to  tell  her  ?  " 

"That  you  consent,  sir.  God  bless  you!  God  bless 
you  !     Oh  !  " 

"  Yes,  but  that  I  advise  you  to  wait." 

"  I'll  tell  her  all,"  said  Staines,  and  rushed  out  even  as 
he  spoke,  and  upset  a  heavy  chair  with  a  loud  thud. 

"  Ah !  ah ! "  cried  the  old  gentleman  in  dismay,  and 
put  his  fingers  in  his  ears  —  too  late.  "  I  see,"  said  he, 
"  there  will  be  no  peace  and  quiet  now  till  they  are  out 
of,  the  house."  He  lighted  a  soothing  cigar  to  counteract 
the  fracas. 

"  Poor  little  E-osa !  a  child  but  yesterday,  and  now  to 
encounter  the  cares  of  a  wife,  and  perhaps  a  mother. 
Ah !  she  is  but  young,  but  young." 

The  old  gentleman  prophesied  truly ;  from  that  moment 
he  had  no  peace  till  he  withdrew  all  semblance  of  dissent, 
and  even  of  procrastination. 

Christopher  insured  his  life  for  six  thousand  pounds, 
and  assigned  the  policy  to  his  wife.  Four  hundred 
pounds  was  handed  to  Mr.  Lusignan  to  pay  the  premiums 
until  the  genius  of  Dr.  Staines  should  have  secured  him 
that  large  professional  income,  which  does  not  come  all 
at  once,  even  to  the  rare  physician,  who  is  Capax,  Effi- 
cax,  Sagax. 


78  A  SIMPLETON. 

The  wedding-day  was  named.  The  bridesmaids  were 
selected,  the  guests  invited.  None  refused  but  Uncle 
Philip.  He  declined,  in  his  fine  bold  hand,  to  counte- 
nance in  person  an  act  of  folly  he  disapproved.  Chris- 
topher put  his  letter  away  with  a  momentary  sigh,  and 
would  not  show  it  Eosa.  All  other  letters  they  read 
together,  charming  pastime  of  that  happy  period.  Pres- 
ents poured  in.  Silver  teapots,  coffeepots,  sugar-basins, 
cream-jugs,  fruit-dishes,  silver-gilt  inkstands,  albums, 
photograph-books,  little  candlesticks,  choice  little  services 
of  china,  shell  salt-cellars  in  a  case  lined  with  maroon 
velvet ;  a  Bible,  superb  in  binding  and  clasps,  and  every- 
thing but  the  text  —  that  was  illegible ;  a  silk  scarf  from 
Benares;  a  gold  chain  from  Delhi,  six  feet  long  or 
nearly ;  a  Maltese  necklace,  a  ditto  in  exquisite  filagree 
from  Genoa ;  English  brooches,  a  trifle  too  big  and  brain- 
less; apostle  spoons;  a  treble-lined  parasol  with  ivory 
stick  and  handle;  an  ivory  card-case,  richly  carved; 
workbox  of  sandal-wood  and  ivory,  etc.  Mr.  Lusignan's 
City  friends,  as  usual  with  these  gentlemen,  sent  the 
most  valuable  things.  Every  day  one  or  two  packages 
were  delivered,  and,  in  opening  them,  Rosa  invariably 
uttered  a  peculiar  scream  of  delight,  and  her  father  put 
his  fingers  in  his  ears ;  yet  there  was  music  in  this  very 
scream,  if  he  would  only  have  listened  to  it  candidly, 
instead  of  fixing  his  mind  on  his  vague  theory  of  screams 
—  so  formed  was  she  to  please  the  ear  as  well  as  the  eye. 

At  last  came  a  parcel  she  opened  and  stared  at,  smiling 
and  coloring  like  a  rose,  but  did  not  scream,  being  too 
dumfounded  and  perplexed;  for  lo !  a  teapot  of  some 
base  material,  but  simple  and  elegant  in  form,  being  an 
exact  reproduction  of  a  melon ;  and  inside  this  teapot  a 
canvas  bag  containing  ten  guineas  in  silver,  and  a  wash- 
leather  ])ag  containing  twenty  guineas  in  gold,  and  a 
slip  of  paper,  which  Eosa,  being  now  half   recovered 


A     SIMPLETON.  79 

from  her  stupefaction,  read  out  to  her  father  and  Dr. 
Staines : 

"Teople  that  buy  presents  blindfold  give  duplicates  and 
triplicates  ;  and  men  seldom  choose  to  a  woman's  taste  ;  so  bo 
pleased  to  accept  the  enclosed  tea-leaves,  and  buy  for  yourself. 
The  teapot  you  can  put  on  the  hob,  for  it  is  nickel." 

Rosa  looked  sore  puzzled  again.  "Papa,"  said  she, 
timidly,  "have  we  any  friend  that  is  —  a  little  —  de- 
ranged ?  " 

"  A  lot." 

"'  Oh,  then,  that  accounts." 

"Why  no,  love,"  said  Christopher.  "I  have  heard  of 
much  learning  making  a  man  mad,  but  never  of  much 
good  sense." 

"  AMiat !     Do  you  call  this  sensible  ?  " 

"Don't  you?" 

"I'll  read  it  again,"  said  Rosa.  "Well  —  yes  —  I 
declare  —  it  is  not  so  mad  as  I  thought ;  but  it  is  very 
eccentric." 

Lusignan  suggested  there  was  nothing  so  eccentric  as 
common  sense,  especially  in  time  of  wedding.  "  This," 
said  he,  "  comes  from  the  City.  It  is  a  friend  of  mine, 
some  old  fox ;  he  is  throwing  dust  in  your  eyes  with  his 
reasons ;  his  real  reason  was  that  his  time  is  money ;  it 
would  have  cost  the  old  rogue  a  hundred  pounds'  worth 
of  time  —  you  know  the  City,  Christoi)her  —  to  go  out 
and  choose  the  girl  a  present ;  so  he  has  sent  his  clerk 
out  with  a  check  to  buy  a  pewter  teapot,  and  fill  it  with 
specie." 

"  Pewter !  "  cried  Rosa.  "  Ko  such  thing !  It's  nickel. 
AVhat  is  nickel,  I  wonder  ?  " 

The  handwriting  afforded  no  clew,  so  there  the  dis- 
cussion ended :  but  it  was  a  nice  little  mystery,  and  very 


80  A   SIMPLETON. 

convenient;  made  conversation.  Kosa  had  many  an 
animated  discussion  about  it  with  her  female  friends. 

The  wedding-day  came  at  last.  The  sun  shone  — 
actually,  as  Rosa  observed.  The  carriages  drove  up. 
The  bridesmaids,  principally  old  schoolfellows  and 
impassioned  correspondents  of  Rosa,  were  pretty,  and 
dressed  alike  and  delightfully ;  but  the  bride  was  peer- 
less ;  her  Southern  beauty  literally  shone  in  that  white 
satin  dress  and  veil,  and  her  head  was  regal  with  the 
crown  of  orange-blossoms.  Another  crown  she  had  — 
true  virgin  modesty.  A  low  murmur  burst  from  the 
men  the  moment  they  saw  her ;  the  old  women  forgave 
her  beauty  on  the  spot,  and  the  young  women  almost 
pardoned  it;  she  was  so  sweet  and  womanly,  and  so 
sisterly  to  her  own  sex. 

When  they  started  for  the  church  she  began  to  tremble, 
she  scarce  knew  why ;  and  when  the  solemn  words  were 
said,  and  the  ring  was  put  on  her  finger,  she  cried  a 
little,  and  looked  half  imploringly  at  her  bridesmaids 
once,  as  if  scared  at  leaving  them  for  an  untried  and 
mysterious  life  with  no  woman  near. 

They  were  married.  Then  came  the  breakfast,  that 
hour  of  uneasiness  and  blushing  to  such  a  bride  as  this  ; 
but  at  last  she  was  released.  She  sped  up-stairs,  thank- 
ing goodness  it  was  over.  Down  came  her  last  box.  The 
bride  followed  in  a  plain  travelling  dress,  which  her 
glorious  eyes  and  brows  and  her  rich  glowing  cheeks 
seemed  to  illumine  :  she  was  handed  into  the  carriage, 
the  bridegroom  followed.  All  the  young  guests  clustered 
about  the  door,  armed  with  white  shoes  —  slippers  are 
gone  by. 

They  started ;  the  ladies  flung  their  white  shoes  right 
and  left  with  religious  impartiality,  except  that  not  one 
of  their  missiles  went  at  the  object.  The  men,  more 
skilful,  sent  a  shower  on  to  the  roof  of  the  carriage, 


A   SIMPLETON.  81 

which  is  the  lucky  si:)ot.  The  bride  kissed  her  hand, 
and  managed  to  put  off  crying,  though  it  cost  her  a 
struggle.  The  party  hurrahed;  enthusiastic  youths 
gathered  fallen  shoes,  and  ran  and  hurled  them  again 
with  cheerful  yells,  and  away  went  the  happy  pair,  the 
bride  leaning  sweetly  and  confidingly  with  both  her 
white  hands  on  the  bridegroom's  shoulder,  while  he 
dried  the  tears  that  would  run  now  at  leaving  home  and 
parent  forever,  and  kissed  her  often,  and  encircled  her 
with  his  strong  arm,  and  murmured  comfort,  and  love, 
and  pride,  and  joy,  and  sweet  vows  of  lifelong  tenderness 
into  her  ears,  that  soon  stole  nearer  his  lips  to  hear,  and 
the  fair  cheek  grew  softly  to  his  shoulder. 


82  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Dr.  Staines  and  Mrs.  Staines  visited  France,  Switzer- 
land, and  the  Rhine,  and  j)assed  a  month  of  Elysium 
before  they  came  to  London  to  face  their  real  destiny 
and  fight  the  battle  of  life. 

And  here,  methinks,  a  reader  of  novels  may  perhaps 
cry  out  and  say,  "  What  manner  of  man  is  this,  who 
marries  his  hero  and  heroine,  and  then,  instead  of  leav- 
ing them  happy  for  life,  and  at  rest  from  his  uneasy  pen 
and  all  their  other  troubles,  flows  coolly  on  with  their 
adventures  ?  " 

To  this  I  can  only  reply  that  the  old  English  novel  is 
no  rule  to  me,  and  life  is ;  and  I  respectfully  propose  an 
experiment.  Catch  eight  old  married  people,  four  of 
each  sex,  and  say  unto  them,  "  Sir,"  or  "  Madam,  did  the 
more  remarkable  events  of  your  life  come  to  you  before 
marriage  or  after  ?  "  Most  of  them  will  say  "  after,"  and 
let  that  be  my  excuse  for  treating  the  marriage  of  Christo- 
pher Staines  and  Rosa  Lusignan  as  merely  one  incident 
in  their  lives  ;  an  incident  which,  so  far  from  ending  their 
story,  led  by  degrees  to  more  striking  events  than  any  that 
occurred  to  them  before  they  were  man  and  Avife. 

They  returned,  then,  from  their  honey  tour,  and 
Staines,  who  was  methodical  and  kept  a  diary,  made 
the  following  entry  therein :  — 

"  We  have  now  a  life  of  endurance,  and  self-denial, 
and  economy,  before  us ;  we  have  to  rent  a  house,  and 
furnish  it,  and  live  in  it,  until  professional  income  shall 
flow  in  and  make  all  things  easy:  and  we  have  two 
thousand  five  hundred  pounds  left  to  do  it  with." 


A  SIMPLETON.  83 

They  came  to  a  family  liotel,  and  Dr.  Staines  went 
out  directly  after  breakfast  to  look  for  a  house.  Acting 
on  a  friend's  advice,  he  visited  the  streets  and  places 
north  of  Oxford  Street,  looking  for  a  good  commodious 
house  adapted  to  his  business.  He  found  three  or  four 
at  fair  rents,  neither  cheap  nor  dear,  the  district  being 
respectable  and  rather  wealthy,  but  no  longer  fashionable. 
He  came  home  with  his  notes,  and  found  Eosa  beaming 
in  a  crisp  ijeignolr,  and  her  lovely  head  its  natural  size 
and  shape,  high-bred  and  elegant.  He  sat  down,  and 
with  her  hand  in  his  proceeded  to  describe  the  houses  to 
her,  when  a  waiter  thrcAv  open  the  door  —  "  Mrs.  John 
Cole." 

"Florence  !  "  cried  Eosa,  starting  up. 
In  flowed  Florence  :  they  both  uttered  a  little  squawk 
of  delight,  and  went  at  each  other  like  two  little  tigresses, 
and  kissed  in  swift  alternation  with  a  singular  ardor, 
drawing  their  crests  back  like  snakes,  and  then  darting 
them  forward  and  inflicting  what,  to  the  male  philosopher 
looking  on,  seemed  hard  kisses,  violent  kisses,  rather 
than  the  tender  ones  to  be  expected  from  two  tender 
creatures  embracing  each  other. 

"  Darling,"  said  Eosa,  "  I  knew  you  would  be  the  first. 
Didn't  I  tell  you  so,  Christopher  ?  — My  husband— my 
darling  Florry  !  Sit  down,  love,  and  tell  me  everything ; 
he  has  just  been  looking  out  for  a  house.  Ah !  you  have 
got  all  that  over  long  ago:  she  has  been  married  six 
months.  Florry,  you  are  handsomer  than  ever;  and 
what  a  beautiful  dress  !  Ah !  London  is  the  place.  Eeal 
Brussels,  I  declare,"  and  she  took  hold  of  her  friend's 
lace  and  gloated  on  it. 

Christopher  smiled  good-naturedly,  and  said,  "  I  dare 
say  you  ladies  have  a  good  deal  to  say  to  each  other." 

"  Oceans,"  said  Eosa. 

"  I  will  go  and  hunt  houses  again." 


84  A   SIMPLETONc 

"  There's  a  good  liusband,"  said  Mrs.  Cole,  as  soon  as 
the  door  closed  on  him,  "  and  such  a  line  man  !  Why, 
he  must  be  six  feet.  Mine  is  rather  short.  But  he  is 
very  good  ;  refuses  me  nothing.     My  will  is  law." 

"  That  is  all  right  —  you  are  so  sensible ;  but  I  want 
governing  a  little,  and  I  like  it  —  actually.  Did  the 
dressmaker  find  it,  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  I  had  it  by  me.  I  bought  it  at  Brussels  on 
our  wedding  tour  :  it  is  dearer  there  than  in  London." 

She  said  this  as  if  "  dearer "  and  "  better "  were 
synonymous. 

''  But  about  your  house,  Bosie  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  darling,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  I  never  saw 
a  moir^  this  shade  before.  I  don't  care  for  them  in 
general ;  but  this  is  so  distingue. ^^ 

Florence  rewarded  her  with  a  kiss. 

"  The  house,"  said  Kosa.  "  Oh,  he  has  seen  one  in 
Portman  Street,  and  one  in  Gloucester  Place." 

"  Oh,  that  will  never  do,"  cried  Mrs.  Cole.  "  It  is  no 
use  being  a  physician  in  those  out-of-the-way  places. 
He  must  be  in  Mayfair." 

"Must  he?" 

"  Of  course.  Besides,  then  my  Johnnie  can  call  him 
in  when  they  are  just  going  to  die.  Johnnie  is  a  general 
prac,  and  makes  two  thousand  a  year  ;  and  he  shall  call 
your  one  in  ;  but  he  must  live  in  Mayfair.  Why,  Bosie, 
you  would  not  be  such  a  goose  as  to  live  in  those  places 
—  they  are  quite  gone  by." 

"I  shall  do  whatever  you  advise  me,  dear.  Oh,  what 
a  comfort  to  have  a  dear  friend :  and  six  months  mar- 
ried, and  knows  things.  How  richly  it  is  trimmed ! 
Why,  it  is  nearly  all  trimmings." 

"  That  is  the  fashion." 

"  Oh  !  " 

And  after  that  big  word  there  was  no  more  to  be  said. 


A   SIMPLETON.  85 

These  two  ladies  in  their  converscation  gravitated 
towards  dress,  and  fell  flat  on  it  every  half-minute. 
That  great  and  elevating  topic  held  them  by  a  silken 
cord,  but  it  allowed  them  to  flutter  upwards  into  other 
topics ;  and  in  those  intervals,  numerous  though  brief, 
the  lady  wlio  had  been  married  six  months  found  time 
to  instruct  the  matrimonial  novice  with  great  authority, 
and  even  a  shade  of  pomposity.  "jMy  dear,  the  way 
ladies  and  gentlemen  get  a  house  —  in  the  first  place,  you 
don't  go  about  yourself  like  that,  and  you  never  go  to 
the  people  themselves,  or  you  are  sure  to  be  taken  in, 
but  to  a  respectable  house-agent." 

"Yes,  dear,  that  must  be  the  best  way,  one  would 
think." 

"  Of  course  it  is  ;  and  you  ask  for  a  house  in  IMayfair, 
and  he  shows  you  several,  and  recommends  you  the  best, 
and  sees  you  are  not  cheated." 

' '  Thank  you,  love,"  said  Eosa ;  "  now  I  know  what  to 
do  ;  I'll  not  forget  a  word.  And  the  train  so  beautifully 
shaped !  Ah !  it  is  only  in  London  or  Paris  they  can 
make  a  dress  flow  behind  like  that,"  etc.,  etc. 

Dr.  Staines  came  back  to  dinner  in  good  spirits ;  he 
had  found  a  house  in  Harewood  Square ;  good  entrance- 
hall,  where  his  gratuitous  patients  might  sit  on  benches  ; 
good  dining-room  where  his  superior  patients  might  wait ; 
and  good  library,  to  be  used  as  a  consulting-room.  Rent 
only  eighty-five  pounds  per  annum. 

But  Eosa  told  him  that  would  never  do  ;  a  physician 
must  be  in  the  fashionable  part  of  the  town. 

"Eventually,"  said  Christoi)her ;  "but  surely  at  first 
starting  —  and  you  know  they  say  little  boats  should  not 
go  too  far  from  shore." 

Then  Eosa  repeated  all  her  friend's  arguments,  and 
seemed  so  unhappy  at  the  idea  of  not  living  near  her, 
that  Staines,  who  had  not  yet  said  the  hard  word  "  no  " 


86  A   SIMPLETON. 

to  her,  gave  in ;  consoling  liis  prudence  with  the  reflec- 
tion that,  after  all,  Mr.  Cole  could  put  many  a  guinea  in 
his  way,  for  Mr.  Cole  was  middle-aged, — though  his 
wife  was  young,  —  and  had  really  a  very  large  practice. 

So  next  day,  the  newly-wedded  pair  called  on  a  house- 
agent  in  Mayfair,  and  his  son  and  partner  went  with 
them  to  several  places.  The  rents  of  houses  equal  to 
that  in  Harewood  Square  were  three  hundred  pounds  a 
year  at  least,  and  a  premium  to  boot. 

Christopher  told  him  these  were  quite  beyond  the 
mark.  "  Very  well,"  said  the  agent.  "  Then  I'll  show 
you  a  Bijou." 

Kosa  clapped  her  hands.  "  That  is  the  thing  for  us. 
We  don't  want  a  large  house,  only  a  beautiful  one,  and  in 
Mayfair." 

"  Then  the  Bijou  will  be  sure  to  suit  you." 

He  took  them  to  the  Bijou. 

The  Bijou  had  a  small  dining-room  with  one  very  large 
window  in  two  sheets  of  plate  glass,  and  a  projecting 
balcony  full  of  flowers  ;  a  still  smaller  library,  which 
opened  on  a  square  yard  enclosed.  Here  were  a  great 
many  pots,  with  flowers  dead  or  dying  from  neglect. 
On  the  first  floor  a  fair-sized  drawing-room,  and  a  tiny 
one  at  the  back :  on  the  second  floor,  one  good  bedroom, 
and  a  dressing-room,  or  little  bedroom:  three  garrets 
above. 

Eosa  was  in  ecstasies.     "It  is  a  nest,"  said  she. 

"  It  is  a  bank-note,"  said  the  agent,  stimulating  equal 
enthusiasm,  after  his  fashion.  "  You  can  always  sell  the 
lease  again  for  more  money." 

Christopher  kept  cool.  "  I  don't  want  a  house  to  sell, 
but  to  live  in,  and  do  my  business ;  I  am  a  physician : 
now  the  drawing-room  is  built  over  the  entrance  to  a 
mews ;  the  back  rooms  all  look  into  a  mews :  we  shall 
have  the  eternal  noise  and  smell  of  a  mews.     My  wife's 


A  SIMPLETON.  <S7 

rest  will  be  broken  by  the  carriages  rolling  in  and  out. 
The  hall  is  fearfully  small  and  stuffy.  The  rent  is 
abominably  high ;  and  what  is  the  premium  for,  I 
wonder  ?  " 

"  Always  a  premium  in  May  fair,  sir.  A  lease  is  prop- 
erty here :  the  gentleman  is  not  acquainted  with  this 
part,  madam." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  is,"  said  Eosa,  as  boldly  as  a  six  years' 
wife:  "  he  knows  everything." 

"  Then  he  knows  that  a  house  of  this  kind  at  a  hun- 
dred and  thirty  pounds  a  year  in  Mayfair  is  a  l)ank-note." 

Staines  turned  to  Rosa.  "  The  poor  patients,  where 
am  I  to  receive  them  ?  " 

"  In  the  stable,"  suggested  the  house  agent. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Rosa,  shocked. 

"Well,  then,  the  coach-house.  Why,  there's  plenty  of 
room  for  a  brougham,  and  one  horse,  and  fifty  poor 
patients  at  a  time :  beggars  musn't  be  choosers  ;  if  you 
give  them  physic  gratis,  that  is  enough  :  you  ain't  bound 
to  find  'em  a  palace  to  sit  down  in,  and  hot  coffee  and 
rump  steaks  all  round,  doctor." 

This  tickled  Rosa  so  that  she  burst  out  laughing,  and 
thenceforward  giggled  at  intervals,  wit  of  this  refined 
nature  having  all  the  charm  of  novelty  for  her. 

They  insj^ected  the  stables,  which  were  indeed  the  one 
redeeming  feature  in  the  horrid  little  Bijou ;  and  then 
the  agent  would  show  them  the  kitchen,  and  the  new 
stove.  He  expatiated  on  this  to  Mrs.  Staines.  "  Cook  a 
dinner  for  thirty  people,  madam." 

"  And  there's  room  for  them  to  eat  it  —  in  the  road," 
said  Staines. 

The  agent  reminded  him  there  were  larger  places  to 
be  had,  by  a  very  simple  process,  viz.,  paying  for 
them. 

Staines   thought   of  the   large,  comfortable  house  in 


88  A  SIMPLETON. 

Harewood  Square.  "  One  hundred  and  thirty  pounds  a 
year  for  this  poky  little  hole  ?  "  he  groaned. 

"AVliy,  it  is  nothing  at  all  for  a  Bijou." 

"  I^ut  it  is  too  much  for  a  bandbox." 

Rosa  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm^  with  an  imploring 
glance. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I'll  submit  to  the  rent,  but  I  really 
cannot  give  the  premium,  it  is  too  ridiculous.  He  ought 
to  bribe  me  to  rent  it,  not  I  him." 

"  Can't  be  done  without,  sir." 

"  AVell,  I'll  give  a  hundred  pounds  and  no  more." 

"  Impossible,  sir." 

"  Then  good  morning.  Now,  dearest,  just  come  and 
see  the  house  at  Harewood  Square,  —  eighty-five  pounds 
and  no  premium." 

"Will  you  oblige  me  with  your  address,  doctor?" 
said  the  agent. 

"  Dr.  Staines,  Morley's  Hotel." 

And  so  they  left  Mayfair. 

Rosa  sighed  and  said,  "  Oh,  the  nice  little  place ;  and 
we  have  lost  it  for  two  hundred  pounds." 

"  Two  hundred  pounds  is  a  great  deal  for  us  to  throw 
away." 

"  Being  near  the  Coles  would  soon  have  made  that  up 
to  you :  and  such  a  cosey  little  nest." 

'^  Well  the  house  will  not  run  away." 

"But  somebody  is  sure  to  snap  it  up.  It  is  a  Bijou." 
She  was  disappointed,  and  half  inclined  to  pout.  But 
she  vented  her  feelings  in  a  letter  to  her  beloved  Florry, 
and  appeared  at  dinner  as  sweet  as  usual. 

During  dinner  a  note  came  from  the  agent,  accepting 
Dr.  Staine's  offer.  He  glozed  the  matter  thus :  he  had 
persuaded  the  owner  it  was  better  to  take  a  good  tenant 
at  a  moderate  loss,  than  to  let  the  Bijou  be  uninhabited 
during  the  present  rainy  season.     An  assignment  of  the 


A   SIMPLETON.  89 

lease  —  wliicli  contained  the  usual  covenants  —  would 
be  prepared  immediately,  and  Dr.  Staines  could  have 
possession  in  forty-eight  hours,  by  paying  the  pre- 
mium. 

Rosa  was  delighted,  and  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over, 
and  the  waiters  gone,  she  came  and  kissed  Christopher. 

He  smiled,  and  said,  "  Well,  you  are  pleased  ;  that  is 
the  principal  thing.  I  have  saved  two  hundred  pounds, 
and  that  is  something.     It  will  go  towards  furnishing." 

"La!  yes,"  said  Rosa,  "I  forgot.  We  shall  have  to 
get  furniture  now.  How  nice  !  "  It  was  a  pleasure  the 
man  of  forecast  could  have  willingly  dispensed  with ; 
but  he  smiled  at  her,  and  they  discussed  furniture,  and 
Christopher,  whose  retentive  memory  had  picked  up  a 
little  of  everything,  said  there  were  wholesale  uphol- 
sterers in  the  City  who  sold  cheaper  than  the  West-end 
houses,  and  he  thought  the  best  way  was  to  measure  the 
rooms  in  the  Bijou,  and  go  to  the  city  with  a  clear  idea 
of  what  they  wanted ;  ask  the  prices  of  various  neces- 
sary articles,  and  then  make  a  list,  and  demand  a  dis- 
count of  fifteen  per  cent  on  the  whole  order,  being  so 
considerable,  and  paid  for  in  cash. 

Rosa  acquiesced,  and  told  Christopher  he  was  the 
cleverest  man  in  England. 

About  nine  o'clock  Mrs.  Cole  came  in  to  condole  with 
her  friend,  and  heard  the  good  news.  When  Rosa  told 
her  how  they  thought  of  furnishing,  she  said,  "  Oh  no, 
you  must  not  do  that ;  you  will  pay  double  for  every- 
thing. That  is  the  mistake  Johnnie  and  I  made ;  and 
after  that  a  friend  of  mine  took  me  to  the  auction-rooms, 
and  I  saw  everything  sold  —  oh,  such  bargains  ;  half, 
and  less  than  half,  their  value.  She  has  furnished  her 
house  almost  entirely  from  sales,  and  she  has  the  love- 
liest things  in  the  world  —  sucli  ducks  of  tables,  and  jar- 
dinieres,  and   things;    and   beautiful   rare   china  —  her 


90  A   SIMPLETON. 

house  swarms  with  it  —  for  an  old  song.     A  sale  is  the 
place.     And  then  so  amusing." 

"  Yes,  but/'  said  Christopher,  "  I  should  not  like  my 
wife  to  encounter  a  public  room." 

"  Not  alone,  of  course ;  but  with  me.  La  !  Dr.  Staines, 
they  are  too  full  of  buying  and  selling  to  trouble  their 
heads  about  us." 

"  Oh,  Christopher,  do  let  me  go  with  her.  Am  I  always 
to  be  a  child  ?  " 

Thus  appealed  to  before  a  stranger,  Staines  replied 
warmly,  "  No,  dearest,  no ;  you  cannot  please  me  better 
than  by  beginning  life  in  earnest.  If  you  two  ladies 
together  can  face  an  auction-room,  go  by  all  means  ;  only 
I  must  ask  you  not  to  buy  china  or  ormulu,  or  anything 
that  will  break  or  spoil,  but  only  solid,  good  furniture." 

"  Won't  you  come  with  us  ?  " 

"No;  or  you  might  feel  yourself  in  leading-strings. 
Remember  the  Bijou  is  a  small  house ;  choose  your  fur- 
niture to  fit  it,  and  then  we  shall  save  something  by  its 
being  so  small." 

This  was  Wednesday.  There  was  a  weekly  sale  in 
Oxford  Street  on  Fridays ;  and  the  ladies  made  the  ap- 
pointment accordingly. 

Next  day,  after  breakfast,  Christopher  was  silent  and 
thoughtful  awhile,  and  at  last  said  to  Eosa,  "  I'll  show 
you  I  don't  look  on  you  as  a  child ;  I'll  consult  you  in  a 
delicate  matter." 

Eosa's  eyes  sparkled. 

"It  is  about  my  Uncle  Philip.  He  has  been  very 
cruel ;  he  has  wounded  me  deeply ;  he  has  wounded  me 
through  my  wife.  I  never  thought  he  would  refuse  to 
come  to  our  marriage." 

"  And  did  he  ?     You  never  showed  me  his  letter." 

"  You  were  not  my  wife  then.  I  kept  an  affront  from 
you ;  but  now,  you  see,  I  keep  nothing." 


A   SIMPLETON.  91 

"  Dear  Christie  ! " 

"I  am  so  happy,  I  have  got  over  that  sting  —  almost; 
and  the  memory  of  many  kind  acts  comes  back  to  me  ; 
and  I.  don't  know  what  to  do.  It  seems  ungrateful  not 
to  visit  him  —  it  seems  almost  mean  to  call." 

"  I'll  tell  you ;  take  me  to  see  him  directly.  He  won't 
hate  us  forever,  if  he  sees  us  often.  We  may  as  well 
begin  at  once.     Nobody  hates  me  long." 

Christopher  was  proud  of  his  wife's  courage  and  wis- 
dom. He  kissed  her,  begged  her  to  put  on  the  plainest 
dross  she  could,  and  they  went  together  to  call  on  Uncle 
riiilip. 

WTien  they  got  to  his  house  in  Gloucester  Place,  Port- 
man  Square,  Rosa's  heart  began  to  quake,  and  she  was 
right  glad  when  the  servant  said  "  Not  at  home." 

They  left  their  cards  and  address ;  and  she  persuaded 
Christopher  to  take  her  to  the  sale-room  to  see  the  things. 

A  lot  of  brokers  were  there,  like  vultures ;  and  one 
after  another  stepped  forward  and  pestered  them  to 
employ  him  in  the  morning.  Dr.  Staines  declined  their 
services  civilly  but  firmly,  and  he  and  Eosa  looked  over 
a  quantity  of  furniture,  and  settled  what  sort  of  things 
to  buy. 

Another  broker  came  up,  and  whenever  the  couple 
stopped  before  an  article,  proceeded  to  praise  it  as  some- 
thing most  extraordinary.  Staines  listened  in  cold,  satir- 
ical silence,  and  told  his  wife,  in  Erench,  to  do  the  same. 
Notwithstanding  their  marked  disgust,  the  impudent, 
intrusive  fellow  stuck  to  them,  and  forced  his  venal 
criticism  on  them,  and  made  them  uncomfortable,  and 
shortened  their  tour  of  observation. 

"  I  think  I  shall  come  with  you  to-morrow,"  said  Chris- 
topher, "or  I  shall  have  these  blackguards  pestering  you." 

"  Oh,  Florry  will  send  them  to  the  right-about.  She 
is  as  brave  as  a  lion." 


92  A   SIMPLETON. 

Next  day  Dr.  Staines  was  sent  for  into  the  City  at 
twelve  to  pay  the  money  and  receive  the  lease  of  the 
BijoUj  and  this  and  the  taking  possession  occupied  him 
till  four  o'clock,  when  he  came  to  his  hotel. 

Meantime,  his  wife  and  Mrs.  Cole  had  gone  to  the 
auction-room. 

It  was  a  large  room,  with  a  good  sprinkling  of  people, 
but  not  crowded  except  about  the  table.  At  the  head  of 
this  table  —  full  twenty  feet  long  —  was  the  auctioneer's 
pulpit,  and  the  lots  were  brought  in  turn  to  the  other 
end  of  the  table  for  sight  and  sale. 

"  We  must  try  and  get  a  seat,"  said  the  enterprising 
Mrs.  Cole,  and  pushed  boldly  in;  the  timid  Kosa  fol- 
lowed strictly  in  her  wake,  and  so  evaded  the  human 
waves  her  leader  clove.  They  were  importuned  at  every 
step  by  brokers  thrusting  catalogues  on  them,  with  offers 
of  their  services,  yet  they  soon  got  to  the  table.  A 
gentleman  resigned  one  chair,  a  broker  another,  and  they 
wore  seated. 

Mrs.  Staines  let  down  half  her  veil,  but  Mrs.  Cole  sur- 
veyed the  company  point-blank. 

The  broker  who  had  given  up  his  seat,  and  now  stood 
behind  Eosa,  offered  her  his  catalogue.  "No,  thank 
you,"  said  E,osa;  "I  have  one;"  and  she  produced  it, 
and  studied  it,  yet  managed  to  look  furtively  at  the 
company. 

There  were  not  above  a  dozen  private  persons  visible 
from  where  Rosa  sat;  perhaps  as  many  more  in  the 
whole  room.  They  were  easily  distinguishable  by  their 
cleanly  appearance:  the  dealers,  male  or  female,  were 
more  or  less  rusty,  greasy,  dirty,  aquiline.  Not  even 
the  amateurs  were  brightly  dressed;  that  fundamental 
error  was  confined  to  Mesdames  Cole  and  Staines.  The 
experienced,  however  wealthy,  do  not  hunt  bargains  in 
silk  and  satin. 


A   SIMPLETON.  93 

The  auctioneer  called  "Lot  7.  Four  saucepans,  two 
trays,  a  kettle,  a  bootjack,  and  a  towel-horse." 

These  were  put  up  at  two  shillings,  and  speedily 
knocked  down  for  five  to  a  fat  old  woman  in  a  greasy 
velvet  jacket;  blind  industry  had  sewed  bugles  on  it, 
not  artfully,  but  agriculturally. 

"  The  lady  on  the  left ! "  said  the  auctioneer  to  his 
clerk.     That  meant  "  Get  the  money." 

The  old  lady  plunged  a  huge  paw  into  a  huge  pocket, 
and  pulled  out  a  huge  handful  of  coin  —  copper,  silver, 
and  gold  —  and  paid  for  the  lot ;  and  Rosa  surveyed  her 
dirty  hands  and  nails  with  innocent  dismay.  "  Oh,  what 
a  dreadful  creature!"  she  whispered;  "and  what  can 
she  want  with  those  old  rubbishy  things  ?  I  saw  a  hole 
in  one  from  here."  The  broker  overheard,  and  said, 
"She  is  a  dealer,  ma'am,  and  the  things  were  given 
away.     She'll  sell  them  for  a  guinea,  easy." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Cole. 

Soon  after  this  the  superior  lots  came  on,  and  six  very 
neat  bedroom  chairs  were  sold  to  all  appearance  for  fif- 
teen shillings. 

The  next  lot  was  identical,  and  Rosa  hazarded  a  bid, 
—  "  Sixteen  shillings." 

Instantly  some  dealer,  one  of  the  hook-nosed  that 
gathered  round  each  lot  as  it  came  to  the  foot  of  the 
table,  cried  "  Eighteen  shillings." 

"  Nineteen,"  said  Rosa. 

"  A  guinea,"  said  the  dealer. 

"  Don't  let  it  go,"  said  the  broker  behind  her.  "  Don't 
let  it  go,  ma'am." 

She  colored  at  the  intrusion,  and  left  off  bidding 
directly,  and  addressed  herself  to  Mrs.  Cole.  "Why 
should  I  give  so  much,  when  the  last  were  sold  for  fif- 
teen shillings  ?  " 

The  real  reason  was  that  the  first  lot  was  not  bid  for 


94  A   SIMrLETON. 

at  all,  except  by  tlie  x^roprietor.  However,  the  broker 
gave  her  a  very  different  solution ;  he  said,  "  The  trade 
always  run  up  a  lady  or  a  gentleman.  Let  me  bid  for 
you ;  they  won't  run  me  up ;  they  know  better." 

Eosa  did  not  reply,  but  looked  at  Mrs.  Cole. 

"Yes,  dear,"  said  that  lady;  "you  had  much  better 
let  him  bid  for  you." 

^'Very  well,"  said  Eosaj  "you  can  bid  for  this  chest 
of  drawers  —  lot  25." 

When  lot  25  came  on,  the  broker  bid  in  the  silliest 
possible  way,  if  his  object  had  been  to  get  a  bargain. 
He  began  to  bid  early  and  ostentatiously ;  the  article 
was  protected  by  somebody  or  other  there  present,  who 
now  of  course  saw  his  way  clear;  he  ran  it  up  auda- 
ciously, and  it  was  purchased  for  Eosa  at  about  the  price 
it  could  have  been  bought  for  at  a  shop. 

The  next  thing  she  wanted  was  a  set  of  oak  chairs. 

They  went  up  to  twenty-eight  pounds ;  then  she  said, 
"  I  shall  give  no  more,  sir." 

"  Better  not  lose  them,"  said  the  agent ;  "  they  are  a 
great  bargain ; "  and  bid  another  pound  for  her  on  his 
own  responsibility. 

They  were  still  run  up,  and  Eosa  peremptorily  refused 
to  give  any  more.  She  lost  them,  accordingly,  by  good 
luck.  Her  faithful  broker  looked  blank;  so  did  the 
proprietor. 

But,  as  the  sale  proceeded,  she  being  young,  the  com- 
petition, though  most  of  it  sham,  being  artful  and  excit- 
ing, and  the  traitor  she  employed  constantly  puffing 
every  article,  she  was  drawn  in  to  wishing  for  things, 
and  bidding  by  her  feelings. 

Then  her  traitor  played  a  game  that  has  been  played  a 
hundred  times,  and  the  perpetrators  never  once  lynched, 
as  they  ought  to  be,  on  the  spot.  He  signalled  a  con- 
federate with  a  hooked  nose ;  the  Jew  rascal  bid  against 


A  SEMPLETON.  05 

the  Christian  scoundrel,  and  so  they  ran  np  the  more 
enticing  things  to  twice  their  value  under  the  hammer. 

Rosa  got  flushed,  and  her  eye  gleamed  like  a  gambler's, 
and  she  bought  away  like  wildfire.  In  which  sport  she 
caught  sight  of  an  old  gentleman,  with  little  black  eyes 
that  kept  twinkling  at  her. 

She  complained  of  these  eyes  to  Mrs.  Cole.  "Wliy 
does  he  twinkle  so  ?  I  can  see  it  is  at  me.  I  am  doing 
something  foolish  —  I  know  I  am." 

Mrs.  Cole  turned,  and  fixed  a  haughty  stare  on  the  old 
gentleman.  Would  you  believe  it  ?  instead  of  sinking 
through  the  floor,  he  sat  his  ground,  and  retorted  Avith  a 
cold,  clear  grin. 

But  now,  whenever  Eosa's  agent  bid  for  her,  and  the 
other  man  of  straw  against  him,  the  black  eyes  twinkled, 
and  Rosa's  courage  began  to  ooze  away.  At  last  she  said, 
"  That  is  enough  for  one  day.  I  shall  go.  Who  could 
bear  those  eyes  ?  " 

The  broker  took  her  address ;  so  did  the  auctioneer's 
clerk.  The  auctioneer  asked  her  for  no  deposit;  her 
beautiful,  innocent,  and  high-bred  face  was  enough  for 
a  man  who  was  always  reading  faces,  and  interpreting 
them. 

And  so  they  retired. 

But  this  charming  sex  is  like  that  same  auctioneer's 
hammer,  it  cannot  go  abruptly.  It  is  always  going  — 
going  —  going  —  a  long  time  before  it  is  gone.  I  think 
it  would  perhaps  loiter  at  the  door  of  a  jail,  with  the 
order  of  release  in  its  hand,  after  six  years'  confinement. 
Getting  up  to  go  quenches  in  it  the  desire  to  go.  So 
these  ladies  having  got  up  to  go,  turned  and  lingered, 
and  hung  fire  so  long,  that  at  last  another  set  of  oak 
chairs  came  up.  "  Oh !  I  must  see  what  these  go  for," 
said  Rosa,  at  the  door. 

The  bidding  was  mighty  languid  now  Rosa's  broker 


96  A   SIMPLETON. 

was  not  stimulating  it;  and  the  auctioneer  was  just 
knocking  down  twelve  chairs  —  oak  and  leather  —  and 
two  arm-chairs,  for  twenty  x^ounds,  when,  casting  his 
eyes  around,  he  caught  sight  of  Eosa  looking  at  him 
rather  excited.  He  looked  inquiringly  at  her.  She 
nodded  slightly;  he  knocked  them  down  to  her  at 
twenty  guineas,  and  they  were  really  a  great  bargain. 

"  Twenty-two,"  cried  the  dealer. 

"  Too  late,"  said  the  auctioneer. 

"  I  spoke  with  the  hammer,  sir." 

"After  the  hammer,  Isaacs." 

"  Shelp  me  God,  we  was  together." 

One  or  two  more  of  his  tribe  confirmed  this  pious 
falsehood,  and  clamored  to  have  them  put  up  again. 

"  Call  the  next  lot,"  said  the  auctioneer,  peremptorily. 
"Make  up  your  mind  a  little  quicker  next  time,  Mr. 
Isaacs;  you  have  been  long  enough  at  it  to  know  the 
value  of  oak  and  moroccar." 

Mrs.  Staines  and  her  friend  now  started  for  Morley's 
Hotel,  but  went  round  by  Kegent  Street,  whereby  they 
got  glued  at  Peter  Eobinson's  window,  and  nine  other 
windows;  and  it  was  nearly  five  o'clock  when  they 
reached  Morley's.  As  they  came  near  the  door  of  their 
sitting-room,  Mrs.  Staines  heard  somebody  laughing  and 
talking  to  her  husband.  The  laugh,  to  her  subtle  ears, 
did  not  sound  musical  and  genial,  but  keen,  satirical, 
unpleasant;  so  it  was  with  some  timidity  she  opened 
■  the  door,  and  there  sat  the  old  chap  with  the  twinkling 
eyes.     Both  parties  stared  at  each  other  a  moment. 

"  Why,  it  is  them,"  cried  the  old  gentleman.  "  Ha ! 
ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Rosa  colored  all  over,  and  felt  guilty  somehow,  and 
looked  miserable. 

"Rosa  dear,"  said  Dr.  Staines,  "this  is  our  Uncle 
Philip." 


A  SIMPLETON.  97 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Rosa,  and  turned  red  and  pale  by  turns ; 
for  she  had  a  great  desire  to  propitiate  Uncle  Philii). 

"  You  were  in  the  auction-room,  sir  ?  '^  said  Mrs.  Cole, 
severely. 

"  I  Avas,  madam.     He  !  he  ! " 

"  Furnishing  a  house  ?  " 

"  No,  ma'am.  I  go  to  a  dozen  sales  a  week  ;  but  it  is 
not  to  buy — I  enjoy  the  humors.  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
Robert  Burton,  ma'am  ?  " 

"No.  Yes;  a  great  traveller,  isn't  he?  Discovered 
the  Nile — or  the  Niger  —  or  something  ?  ^^ 

This  majestic  vagueness  staggered  old  Crusty  at  fix-st, 
but  he  recovered  his  equilibrium,  and  said,  "Why,  yes. 
now  I  think  of  it,  you  are  right ;  he  has  travelled  farther 
than  most  of  us,  for  about  two  centuries  ago  he  visited 
that  bourn  whence  no  traveller  returns.  Well,  when  he 
was  alive  —  he  was  a  student  of  Christchurch  —  he  used 
to  go  down  to  a  certain  bridge  over  the  Isis  and 
enjoy  the  chaff  of  the  bargemen.  Now  there  are  no 
bargemen  left  to  speak  of  ;  the  mantle  of  Bobby  Burton's 
barcrees  has  fallen  on  the  Jews  and  demi-semi-Christians 

O 

that  buy  and  sell  furniture  at  the  weekly  auctions ; 
thither  I  repair  to  hear  what  little  coarse  wit  is  left  us. 
Used  to  go  to  the  House  of  Commons;  but  they  are 
getting  too  civil  by  half  for  my  money.  Besides,  charac- 
ters come  out  in  an  auction.  For  instance,  only  this  very 
day  I  saw  two  ladies  enter,  in  gorgeous  attire,  like 
heifers  decked  for  sacrifice,  and  reduce  their  spoliation 
to  a  certainty  by  employing  a  broker  to  bid.  Now,  what 
is  a  broker  ?  A  fellow  who  is  to  be  paid  a  shilling  in 
the  pound  for  all  articles  purchased.  What  is  his  inter- 
est, then  ?  To  buy  cheap  ?  Clearly  not.  He  is  paid 
in  proportion  to  the  dearness  of  the  article.'' 

Rosa's  face  began  to  work  piteously. 

"Accordingly,  what  did  the  broker  in  question  dcf 


98  A  SIMPLETON. 

He  winked  to  another  broker,  and  these  two  bid  against 
one  another,  over  their  victim's  head,  and  ran  everything 
she  wanted  up  at  least  a  hundred  per  cent  above  the 
value.  So  open  and  transparent  a  swindle  I  have  seldom 
seen,  even  in  an  auction-room.     Ha !  ha !  ha !  ha !  ha ! " 

His  mirth  was  intermitted  by  Eosa  going  to  her 
husband,  hiding  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  meekly 
crying. 

Christopher  comforted  her  like  a  man.  "Don't  you 
cry,  darling,"  said  he  ;  "  how  should  a  pure  creature  like 
you  know  the  badness  of  the  world  all  in  a  moment  ? 
If  it  is  my  wife  you  are  laughing  at,  Uncle  Philip,  let 
me  tell  you  this  is  the  wrong  place.  I'd  rather  a  thou- 
sand times  have  her  as  she  is,  than  armed  with  the 
cunning  and  suspicions  of  a  hardened  old  worldling  like 
you." 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Uncle  Philip,  who,  to  do 
him  justice,  could  take  blows  as  well  as  give  them  ; 
"  but  why  employ  a  broker  ?  Why  pay  a  scoundrel  five 
per  cent  to  make  you  pay  a  hundred  per  cent  ?  Wliy 
pay  a  noisy  fool  a  farthing  to  open  his  mouth  for  you 
when  you  have  taken  the  trouble  to  be  there  yourself, 
and  have  got  a  mouth  of  your  own  to  bid  discreetly 
with  ?  Was  ever  such  an  absurdity  ?  "  He  began  to 
get  angry. 

"  Do  you  want  to  quarrel  with  me.  Uncle  Philip  ? " 
said  Christopher,  firing  up;  "because  sneering  at  my 
Rosa  is  the  way,  and  the  only  way,  and  the  sure  way." 

"  Oh,  no,"  said  Eosa,  interposing.  "  Uncle  Philip  was 
right.  I  am  very  foolish  and  inexperienced,  but  I  am 
not  so  vain  as  to  turn  from  good  advice.  I  will  never 
employ  a  broker  again,  sir." 

Uncle  Philip  smiled  and  looked  pleased. 

Mrs.  Cole  caused  a  diversion  by  taking  leave,  and 
Rosa  followed  her  down-stairs.    On  her  return  she  found 


A    SIML'LETON.  09 

Christo2)lier  telling  his  uncle  all  about  the  Bijou,  and 
how  he  had  taken  it  for  a  hundred  and  thirty  })Oun(Ls  a 
year  and  a  hundred  pounds  premium,  and  Uncle  Philip 
staring  fearfully. 

At  last  he  found  his  tongue.  "The  Bijou!"  said  he. 
"  Why,  that  is  a  name  they  gave  to  a  little  den  in  Dear 
Street,  Mayfair.  You  haven't  ever  been  and  taken  tliat ! 
Built  over  a  mews." 

Christopher  groaned.     "  That  is  the  place,  I  fear." 

"  Why  the  owner  is  a  friend  of  mine ;  an  old  patient. 
Stables  stunk  him  out.  Let  it  to  a  man ;  I  forget  liis 
name.  Stables  stunk  him  out.  He  said,  'I  shall  go. 
'You  can't,'  said   my  friend;  'you  have  taken  a  lease.' 

*  Lease  be  d d,'  said  the  other;  'I  never  took  your 

house ;  here's  quite  a  large  stench  not  specified  in  your 
description  of  the  property  —  it  can't  he  the  same  jjlace ;^ 
flung  the  lease  at  his  head,  and  cut  like  the  wind  to 
foreign  parts  less  odoriferous.  I'd  have  got  you  the 
hole  for  ninety  ;  but  you  are  like  your  wife — you  must 
go  to  an  agent.  AMiat !  don't  you  know  that  an  agent  is 
a  man  acting  for  you  with  an  interest  opposed  to  yours  ? 
Emplopng  an  agent !  it  is  like  a  Trojan  seeking  the  aid 
of  a  Greek.  You  needn't  cry,  Mrs.  Staines ;  your  husband 
has  been  let  in  deeper  than  you  have.  ]N"ow,  you  are 
young  people  beginning  life ;  I'll  give  you  a  jjiece  of 
advice.  Employ  others  to  do  what  you  can't  do,  and  it 
must  be  done ;  but  never  to  do  anything  you  can  do 
better  for  yourselves !  Agent !  The  word  is  derived 
from  a  Latin  word  '  agere,^  to  do ;  and  agents  act  up  to 
their  etymology,  for  they  invariably  do  the  nincompoop 
that  employs  them,  or  deals  with  them,  in  any  mortal  way. 
I'd  have  got  you  that  beastly  little  Bijou  for  ninety 
pounds  a  year." 

Uncle  Philip  went  away  crusty,  leaving  the  young 
couple  finely  mortified  and  discouraged. 


100  A   SIMPLETON. 

That  did  not  last  very  long.  Christopher  noted  the 
experience  and  Uncle  Phil's  wisdom  in  his  diary,  and 
then  took  his  wife  on  his  knee,  and  comforted  her,  and 
said,  "  Never  mind ;  experience  is  worth  money,  and  it 
always  has  to  be  bought.  Those  who  cheat  us  will  die 
poorer  than  we  shall,  if  we  are  honest  and  economical. 
I  have  observed  that  people  are  seldom  ruined  by  the 
vices  of  others ;  these  may  hurt  them,  of  course ;  but 
it  is  only  their  own  faults  and  follies  that  can  destroy 
them." 

"  Ah !  Christie,"  said  Eosa,  "  you  are  a  man  !  Oh,  the 
comfort  of  being  married  to  a  mail.  A  man  sees  the 
best  side.  I  do  adore  men.  Dearest,  I  will  waste  no 
more  of  your  money.     I  will  go  to  no  more  sales." 

Christopher  saw  she  was  deeply  mortified,  and  he  said, 
quietly,  •'  On  the  contrary,  you  will  go  to  the  very  next. 
Only  take  Uncle  Philip's  advice,  employ  no  broker ;  and 
watch  the  prices  things  fetch  when  you  are  not  bidding  ; 
and  keep  cool." 

She  caressed  his  ears  with  both  her  white  hands,  and 
thanked  him  for  giving  her  another  trial.  So  that 
trouble  melted  in  the  sunshine  of  conjugal  love. 

Notwithstanding  the  agent's  solemn  assurance,  the 
Bijou  was  out  of  repair.  Dr.  Staines  detected  internal 
odors,  as  well  as  those  that  flowed  in  from  the  mews. 
He  was  not  the  man  to  let  his  wife  perish  by  miasma ; 
so  he  had  the  drains  all  up,  and  actually  found  brick 
drains,  and  a  cesspool.  He  stopped  that  up,  and  laid 
down  new  i)ipe  drains,  with  a  good  fall,  and  properly 
trapped.  The  old  drains  were  hidden,  after  the  manner 
of  builders.  He  had  the  whole  course  of  his  new  drains 
marked  upon  all  the  floors  they  passed  under,  and  had 
several  stones  and  boards  hinged  to  facilitate  examina- 
tion at  any  period. 

But  all  this,  with  the  necessary  cleaning,  whitewashing, 


A  SIMPLETON.  I'Ol 

painting,  and  pax^ering,  ran  away  with  money.  >  Thfea  oanle  • 
Kosa's  purchases,  wlitcli,  to  her  amazement,  amounted  to 
one  hundred  and  ninety  pounds,  and  not  a  carpet,  curtain, 
or  bed  amongst  the  lot.  Then  there  was  the  carriage 
home  from  the  auction-room,  an  expense  one  avoids  by 
buying  at  a  shop,  and  the  broker  claimed  his  shilling  in 
the  pound.  This,  however,  Staines  refused.  The  man 
came  and  blustered.  Eosa,  who  was  there,  trendjled. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  she  saw  her  husband's  brow 
lower;  he  seemed  transfigured,  and  looked  terrible. 
"You  scoundrel,"  said  he,  "you  set  another  villain  like 
yourself  to  bid  against  you,  and  you  betrayed  the  inno- 
cent lady  that  employed  you.  I  could  indict  you  and 
your  confederate  for  a  conspiracy.  I  take  the  goods  out 
of  respect  for  my  wife's  credit,  but  you  shall  gain  nothing 
by  swindling  her.  Be  off,  you  heartless  miscreant,  or 
I'll "  — 

"  I'll  take  the  law,  if  you  do." 

"  Take  it,  then  !  I'll  give  you  something  to  howl  for ; " 
and  he  seized  him  with  a  grasp  so  tremendous  that  the 
fellow  cried  out  in  dismay,  "  Oh !  don't  hit  me,  sir ;  pray 
don't." 

On  this  abject  appeal,  Staines  tore  the  door  open  with 
his  left  hand,  and  spun  the  broker  out  into  the  passage 
Avith  his  right.  Two  movements  of  this  angry  Hercules, 
and  the  man  Avas  literally  whirled  out  of  sight  with  a 
rapidity  and  swiftness  almost  ludicrous ;  it  was  like  a 
trick  in  a  pantomime.  A  clatter  on  the  stairs  betrayed 
that  he  had  gone  down  the  first  few  ste^js  in  a  wholesale 
and  irregular  manner,  though  he  had  just  managed  to 
keep  his  feet. 

As  for  Staines,  he  stood  there  still  lowering  like  thum 
der,  and  his  eyes  like  hot  coals ;  but  his  wife  threw  her 
tender  arms  around  him,  and  begged  him  consolingly  not 
to  mind. 


102  A   SIMPLETON. 

Siio  iwiis  tremblirig  lilie  an  aspen. 

"  Dear  me/'  said  Cliristoplier,  Avith  a  ludicrous  change 
to  marked  politeness  and  respect,  "  I  forgot  you,  in  my 
righteous  indignation."  Next  he  became  uxorious.  "  Did 
they  frighten  her,  a  duck  ?  Sit  on  my  knee,  darling,  and 
pull  my  hair,  for  not  being  more  considerate  —  there ! 
there ! " 

This  was  followed  by  the  whole  absurd  soothing  process, 
as  practised  by  manly  husbands  upon  quivering  and  some- 
what hysterical  wives,  and  ended  with  a  formal  apology. 
"  You  must  not  think  that  I  am  passionate ;  on  the  con- 
trary, I  am  always  practising  self-government.  My  maxim 
is,  Animum  rege  qui  7iisi  paret  imj^erat,  and  that  means. 
Make  your  temper  your  servant,  or  else  it  will  be  your 
master.  But  to  ill-use  my  dear  little  wife  —  it  is  unnat- 
ural, it  is  monstrous,  it  makes  my  blood  boil." 

"  Oh,  dear !  don't  go  into  another.  It  is  all  over.  I 
can't  bear  to  see  you  in  a  passion ;  you  are  so  terrible,  so 
beautiful.  Ah !  they  are  fine  things,  courage  and  strength. 
There's  nothing  I  admire  so  much." 

"Why,  they  are  as  common  as  dirt.  What  I  admire 
is  modesty,  timidity,  sweetness ;  the  sensitive  cheek  that 
pales  or  blushes  at  a  Avord,  the  bosom  that  quivers,  and 
clings  to  a  fellow  whenever  anything  goes  wrong." 

"  Oh,  that  is  what  you  admire,  is  it  ?  "  said  Kosa  dryly. 

"  Admire  it  ?  "  said  Christopher,  not  seeing  the  trap ; 
"I  adore  it." 

"  Then,  Christie,  dear,  you  are  a  Simpleton,  that  is  all. 
And  we  are  made  for  one  another." 

The  house  was  to  be  furnished  and  occupied  as  soon  as 
possible ;  so  Mrs.  Staines  and  Mrs.  Cole  went  to  another 
sale-room.  Mrs.  Staines  remembered  all  Uncle  Philip)  had 
said,  and  went  plainly  dressed ;  but  her  friend  declined 
to  sacrifice  her  showy  dress  to  her  friend's  interests. 
Rosa  thought  that  a  little  unkind,  but  said  nothing. 


A   SIMPLETON.  10.3 

In  tliis  auction-room  they  easily  got  a  place  at  the 
table,  but  did  not  find  it  heaven ;  for  a  number  of  second- 
hand carpets  were  in  the  sale,  and  these,  brimful  of  dust, 
were  all  shown  on  the  table,  and  the  dirt  choked  and 
poisoned  our  fair  friends.  Brokers  pestered  them,  until 
at  last  Kosa,  smarting  under  her  late  exposure,  addressed 
the  auctioneer  quietly,  in  her  silvery  tones :  "  Sir,  these 
gentlemen  are  annoying  me  by  forcing  their  services  on 
me.  I  do  not  intend  to  buy  at  all  unless  I  can  be  allowed 
to  bid  for  myself." 

When  Rosa,  blushing  and  amazed  at  her  own  boldness, 
uttered  these  words,  she  little  foresaw  their  effect.  She 
liad  touched  a  popular  sore. 

"You  are  quite  right,  madam,"  said  a  respectable 
tradesman  opposite  her.  "What  business  have  these 
dirty  fellows,  without  a  shilling  in  their  pockets,  to  go 
and  force  themselves  on  a  lady  against  her  will  ?  " 

"  It  has  been  complained  of  in  the  papers  again  and 
again,"  said  another. 

"What!  mayn't  we  live  as  well  as  you?"  retorted  a 
broker. 

"  Yes,  but  not  to  force  yourself  on  a  lady.  Why,  she'd 
give  you  in  charge  of  the  police  if  you  tried  it  on  out- 
side." 

Then  there  was  a  downright  clamor  of  discussion  and 
chaff. 

Presently  up  rises  very  slowly  a  countryman  so  colossal, 
that  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  never  have  done  getting  up, 
and  gives  his  experiences.  He  informed  the  compan}^, 
in  a  broad  Yorkshire  dialect,  that  he  did  a  bit  in  furni- 
ture, and  at  first  starting  these  brokers  buzzed  about  him 
like  flies,  and  pestered  him.  "  Aah  damned  'em  pretty 
hard,"  said  he,  "  but  they  didn't  heed  any.  So  then  ah 
spoke  'em  civil,  and  ah  said,  '  Well,  lads,  I  dinna  come 
fra  Yorkshire  to  sit  like  a  dummy  and  let  you  buy  wi' 


104  A    SUNIPLETON. 

my  brass ;  the  first  tliat  pesters  me  again  ah'll  just  fell 
him  on  t'  plaace,  like  a  caulf,  and  ah'm  not  very  sure 
he'll  get  up  again  in  a  hurry.'  So  they  dropped  me  like 
a  hot  potato;  never  pestered  me  again.  But  if  they 
won't  give  over  pestering  you,  mistress,  ah'U  come  round 
and  just  stand  behind  your  chair,  and  bring  nieve  with 
me,"  showing  a  fist  like  a  leg  of  mutton. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  auctioneer,  "that  will  not  do.  I 
will  have  no  disturbance  here.     Call  the  policeman." 

While  the  clerk  went  to  the  door  for  the  bol)by,  a 
gentleman  reminded  the  auctioneer  that  tlie  journals 
had  repeatedly  drawn  attention  to  the  nuisance. 

"  Fault  of  the  public,  not  mine,  sir.  Policeman,  stand 
behind  that  lady's  chair,  and  if  anybody  annoys  her  put 
him  quietly  into  the  street." 

"  This  auction-room  will  be  to  let  soon,"  said  a  voice 
at  the  end  of  the  table. 

"  This  auction-room,"  said  the  auctioneer,  master  of  the 
gay  or  grave  at  a  moment's  notice,  "  is  supported  by  the 
public  and  the  trade ;  it  is  not  supported  by  paupers." 

A  Jew  upholsterer  put  in  his  word.  "  I  do  my  OAvn 
business ;  but  I  like  to  let  a  poor  man  live." 

"  Jonathan,"  said  the  auctioneer  to  one  of  his  servants, 
"  after  this  sale  you  may  put  up  the  shutters ;  we  have 
gone  and  offended  Mr.  Jacobs.  He  keeps  a  shop  in 
Blind  Alley,  Whitechapel.     Now  then,  lot  69." 

Eosa  bid  timidly  for  one  or  two  lots,  and  bought  them 
cheap. 

The  auctioneer  kept  looking  her  way,  and  she  had  only 
to  nod. 

The  obnoxious  broker  got  opposite  her,  aixl  ran  her  up 
a  little  out  of  spite ;  but  as  he  had  only  got  half  a  crown 
about  him,  and  no  means  of  doubling  it,  he  dared  not  go 
far. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  table  was  a  figure  to  which 


A  SIMPLETON.  105 

Kosa's  eyes  often  turned  with  interest  — a  fair  young  boy 
about  twelve  years  old ;  he  had  golden  hair,  and  was  in 
deep  mourning.  His  ajjpearance  interested  Eosa,  and  she 
wondered  how  he  came  there,  and  why ;  he  looked  like 
a  lamb  wedged  in  among  wolves,  a  flower  among  weeds. 
As  the  lots  proceeded,  the  boy  seemed  to  get  uneasy; 
and  at  last,  when  lot  73  was  put  up,  anybody  could  see 
in  his  poor  little  face  that  he  was  there  to  bid  for  it. 

"  Lot  73,  an  armchair  covered  in  morocco.  An  excel- 
lent and  useful  article.  Should  not  be  at  all  surprised  if 
it  was  made  by  Gillow." 

"  Gillow  would  though,"  said  Jacobs,  who  owed  him  a 
turn. 

Chorzcs  of  dealers.  —  "  Haw  !  haw ! " 
The  auctioneer.  — "  I  like  to  hear  some  people  run  a 
lot  down ;  shows  they  are  going  to  bid  for  it  in  earnest. 
Well,  name  your  own  price.     Five  pounds  to  begin  ?  " 

Now  if  nobody  had  spoken  the  auctioneer  would  have 
gone  on,  "AVell,  four  pounds  then— three,  two,  whatever 
you  like,"  and  at  last  obtained  a  bona  fide  offer  of  thirty 
shillings;  but  the  moment  he  said  "Five  pounds  to 
begin,"  the  boy  in  black  lifted  up  his  childish  treble  and 
bid  thus,  "  Five  pound  ten  "  —  "  six  pounds  "  —  "  six  pound 
ten  "  —  ^'  seven  pounds  "  —  "  seven  pound  ten  "  —  "  eight 
pounds  "  —  "  eight  pound  ten  "  —  "  nine  pounds  "  —  "  nine 
pound  ten  "  —  "  ten  pounds  !  "  without  interruption,  and 
indeed  almost  in  a  breath. 

There  was  a  momentary  pause  of  amazement,  and  then 
an  outburst  of  chaff. 

"  Xice  little  boy  !  " 

"  Didn't  he  say  his  lesson  well  ?  " 

"Favor  us  with  your  card,  sir.  You  are  a  gent  as 
knows  how  to  buy." 

"  What  did  he  stop  for  ?  If  it's  worth  ten,  it  is  worth 
a  hundred." 


106  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Bless  the  child ! "  said  a  female  dealer,  kindly,  "  what 
made  you  go  on  like  that  ?  Why,  there  was  no  one  bid 
against  you  !  you'd  have  got  it  for  two  pounds  —  a  rickety 
old  thing." 

Young  master  began  to  whimper.  "  Why,  the  gentle- 
man said,  ^Five  pounds  to  begin.''  It  was  the  chair  poor 
grandpapa  always  sat  in,  and  all  the  things  are  sold,  and 
mamma  said  it  would  break  her  heart  to  lose  it.  She 
was  too  ill  to  come,  so  she  sent  me.  She  told  me  I  was 
not  to  let  it  be  sold  away  from  us  for  less  than  ten 
pounds,  or  she  sh — should  be  m — m — miserable,"  and 
the  poor  little  fellow  began  to  cry.  Eosa  followed  suit 
promptly  but  unobtrusively. 

"Sentiment  always  costs  money,"  said  Mr.  Jacobs, 
gravely. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Cohen.  "  Have  you 
got  any  on  hand  ?     I  never  seen  none  at  your  shop." 

Some  tempting  things  now  came  up,  and  Mrs.  Staines 
bid  freely  ;  but  all  of  a  sudden  she  looked  down  the  table, 
and  there  was  Uncle  Philip,  twinkling  as  before.  "  Oh, 
dear  !  what  am  I  doing  now  ! "  thought  she.  "  I  have  got 
no  broker." 

She  bid  on,  but  in  fear  and  trembling,  because  of  those 
twinkling  eyes.  At  last  she  mustered  courage,  wrote  on 
a  leaf  of  her  pocket-book,  and  passed  it  down  to  him : 
"  It  would  be  only  kind  to  warn  me.  What  am  I  doing 
wrong  ?  " 

He  sent  her  back  a  line  directly :  "  Auctioneer  running 
you  up  himself.  Follow  his  eye  when  he  bids  ;  you  will 
see  there  is  no  bona  fide  bidder  at  your  prices." 

Rosa  did  so,  and  found  that  it  was  true. 

She  nodded  to  Uncle  Philip ;  and,  with  her  expressive 
face,  asked  him  what  she  should  do. 

Tlie  old  boy  must  have  his  joke.  So  he  wrote  back : 
"  Tell  him,  as  you  see  he  has  a  fancy  for  certain  articles, 


A   SII^IPLETON.  107 

you  would  not  be  so  discourteous  as  to  bid  against 
iiim." 

The  next  article  but  one  was  a  drawing-room  suite 
Kosa  wanted ;  but  the  auctioneer  bid  against  her ;  so  at 
eighteen  pounds  she  stopped. 

^  It  is  against  you,  madam,"  said  the  auctioneer. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Eosa ;  "  but  as  you  are  the  only  V)idder, 
and  you  have  been  so  kind  to  me,  I  would  not  think  of 
opposing  you." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  her  mouth,  when  they 
were  greeted  with  a  roar  of  Homeric  laughter  that  liter- 
ally shook  the  room,  and  this  time  not  at  the  expense  of 
the  innocent  speaker. 

"  That's  into  your  mutton,  governor." 

"  Sharp's  the  word  this  time." 

"I  say,  governor,  don't  you  want  a  broker  to  bid  for 
ye?" 

"  Wink  at  me  next  time,  sir ;  I'll  do  the  office  for  you." 

"No  greenhorns  left  now." 

"  That  lady  won't  give  a  ten-pund  note  for  her  grand- 
father's armchair." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  will,  if  it's  stuffed  with  banknotes." 

"  Put  the  next  lot  up  with  the  owner's  name  and  the 
reserve  price.     Open  business." 

"  And  sing  a  psalm  at  starting." 

"  A  little  less  noise  in  Judsea,  if  you  please,"  said  the 
auctioneer,  who  had  now  recovered  from  the  blow. 
"  Lot  97." 

This  was  a  very  pretty  marqueterie  cabinet ;  it  stood 
against  the  wall,  and  Eosa  had  set  her  heart  upon  it. 
Nobody  would  bid.  She  had  muzzled  the  auctioneer 
effectually. 

"  Your  own  price." 

"  Two  pounds,"  said  Eosa. 

A  dealer  offered  guineas ;  and  it  advanced  slowly  to 


108  A    SIMPLETON. 

four  pounds  and  half  a  crown,  at  which  it  was  about  to 
be  knocked  down  to  Kosa,  when  suddenly  a  new  bidder 
arose  in  the  broker  Eosa  had  rejected.  They  bid  slowly 
and  sturdily  against  each  other,  until  a  line  was  given 
to  Eosa  from  Uncle  Philip. 

"This  time  it  is  your  own  friend,  the  snipe-nosed 
woman.     She  telegraphed  a  broker." 

Eosa  read,  and  crushed  the  note.  "  Six  guineas,"  said 
she. 

"  Six-ten." 

"  Seven." 

"  Seven-ten." 

"Eight." 

"Eight-ten." 

"Ten  guineas,"  said  Eosa;  and  then,  with  feminine 
cunning,  stealing  a  sudden  glance,  caught  her  friend 
leaning  back  and  signalling  the  broker  not  to  give  in. 

"  Eleven  pounds." 

"Twelve." 

"  Thirteen." 

"  Fourteen." 

"  Sixteen." 

"Eighteen." 

"  Twenty." 

"  Twenty  guineas." 

"  It  is  yours,  my  faithful  friend,"  said  Eosa,  turning 
suddenly  round  to  Mrs.  Cole,  with  a  magnificent  glance 
no  one  would  have  thought  her  capable  of. 

Then  she  rose  and  stalked  away. 

Dumfounded  for  the  moment,  Mrs.  Cole  followed  her, 
and  stopped  her  at  the  door. 

"Why,  Eosie  dear,  it  is  the  only  thing  I  have  bid  for. 
There  I've  sat  by  your  side  like  a  mouse." 

Eosa  turned  gravely  towards  her.  "  You  know  it  is 
not  that.     You  had  only  to  tell  me  you  wanted  it.     I 


A   SriMPLETON.  100 

would  never  have  been  so  mean  as  to  bid  against 
you." 

"  Mean,  indeed  ! "  said  Florence,  tossing  her  head. 

"  Yes,  mean ;  to  draw  back  and  hide  behind  the  friend 
you.Avere  with,  and  employ  the  very  rogue  she  had 
turned  off.  But  it  is  my  own  fault.  Cecilia  warned  me 
against  you.  She  always  said  you  were  a  treacherous 
girl." 

"And  I  say  you  are  an  impudent  little  minx.  Only 
just  married,  and  going  about  like  two  vagabonds,  and 
talk  to  me  like  that ! " 

"We  are  not  going  about  like  two  vagabonds.  We 
have  taken  a  house  in  Mayfair." 

"  Say  a  stable." 

"  It  was  by  your  advice,  you  false-hearted  creature." 

"You  are  a  fool." 

"  You  are  worse ;  you  are  a  traitress." 

"  Then  don't  you  have  anything  to  do  with  me." 

"  Heaven  forbid  I  should,  you  treacherous  thing  ! " 

"  You  insolent  —  insolent  —  I  hate  you." 

"And  I  despise  you." 

"  I  always  hated  you  at  bottom." 

"That's  why  you  pretended  to  love  me,  you  wretch." 

"  Well,  I  pretend  no  more.     I  am  your  enemy  for  life." 

"  Thank  you.  You  have  told  the  truth  for  once  in 
your  life." 

"  I  have.  And  he  shall  never  call  in  3'our  husl)and ; 
so  you  may  leave  ^Vlayfair  as  soon  as  you  like." 

"  xiot  to  please  you,  madam.  We  can  get  on  without 
traitors." 

And  so  they  parted,  with  eyes  that  gleamed  like 
tis^ers. 

Eosa  dro^'B  home  in  great  agitation,  and  tried  to  tell 
Christopher;  but  choked,  and  became  hysterical.  The 
husband-physician  coaxed  and  scolded  her  out  of  that ; 


110  A  SIMPLETON. 

and  presently  in  came  Uncle  riiilip,  full  of  the  humors 
of  the  auction-room.  He  told  about  the  little  boy  with 
a  delight  that  disgusted  Mrs.  Staines,  and  then  was  x)ar- 
ticularly  merry  on  female  friendships.  "  Fancy  a  man 
going  to  a  sale  with  his  friend,  and  bidding  against  him 
on  the  sly." 

"  She  is  no  friend  of  mine.     We  are  enemies  for  life." 

"  And  3^ou  were  to  be  friends  till  death/'  said  Staines, 
with  a  sigh. 

Philip  inquired  who  she  was. 

"  Mrs.  John  Cole." 

^^Not  of  Curzon  Street  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  you  have  quarrelled  with  her  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Well,  but  her  husband  is  a  general  practitioner." 

"  She  is  a  traitress." 

"  But  her  husband  could  put  a  good  deal  of  money  in 
Christopher's  way." 

"  I  can't  help  it.     She  is  a  traitress." 

"And  you  have  quarrelled  with  her  about  an  old 
wardrobe." 

"No,  for  her  disloyalty,  and  her  base  good-for-noth- 
ingness.     Oh  !  oh !  oh  !  " 

Uncle  Philip  got  up,  looking  sour.  "  Good  afternoon, 
Mrs.  Christopher,"  said  he,  very  dryly. 

Christopher  accompanied  him  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"Well,  Christopher,"  said  he,  "matrimony  is  a  blunder 
at  the  best ;  and  you  have  not  done  the  thing  by  halves. 
You  have  married  a  simx^leton.     She  will  be  your  ruin." 

"  Uncle  Philip,  since  you  only  come  here  to  insult  us, 
I  hope  in  future  you  will  stay  at  home." 

"  Oh  !  with  pleasure,  sir.     Good-by  ! " 


A  SUVIPLETON.  Ill 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Christopher  Staines  came  back,  looking  pained  and 
distiirl)ed.  "  There,"  said  lie,  "  I  feared  it  would  come 
to  this.     I  have  quarrelled  with  Uucle  Philip." 

"Oh!  how  could  you  ?'\ 

"  He  affronted  me." 

"  What  about  ?  " 

"Never  you  mind.  Don't  let  us  say  anything  more 
about  it,  darling.  It  is  a  pity,  a  sad  pity  —  he  was  a 
good  friend  of  mine  once." 

He  paused,  entered  Avhat  had  passed  in  his  diary,  and 
then  sat  dowm,  w^ith  a  gentle  expression  of  sadness  on 
his  manly  features.  Rosa  hung  about  him,  soft  and 
pitying,  till  it  cleared  away,  at  all  events  for  the  time. 

Next  day  they  went  together  to  clear  the  goods  Rosa 
had  purchased.  AVhilst  the  list  was  being  made  out  in 
the  oifice,  in  came  the  fair-haired  boy,  with  a  ten-pound 
note  in  his  very  hand.  Rosa  caught  sight  of  it,  and 
turned  to  the  auctioneer,  with  a  sweet,  pitying  face  : 
"  Oh  !  sir,  surely  you  w^ill  not  take  all  that  money  from 
him,  poor  child,  for  a  rickety  old  chair." 

The  auctioneer  stared  with  amazement  at  her  sim- 
l^licity,  and  said,  "AVhat  would  the  vendors  say  to 
me?" 

She  looked  distressed,  and  said,  "Well,  then,  really 
we  ought  to  raise  a  subscription,  poor  thing  ! " 

"  Why,  ma'am,"  said  the  auctioneer,  "  he  isn't  hurt : 
the  article  belonged  to  his  mother  and  her  sister ;  the 
brother-in-law  isn't  on  good  terms  ;  so  he  demanded  a 
public  sale.     She  will  get  back  four  pun  ten  out  of  it." 


112  A   SIMPLETON. 

Here  the  clerk  put  in  his  word.  "And  there's  five 
pounds  paid,  I  forgot  to  tell  you.'' 

"  Oh !  left  ca  deposit,  did  he  ?  " 

"No,  sir.  But  the  laughing  hyena  gave  you  five 
pounds  at  the  end  of  the  sale." 

"  The  laughing  hyena,  Mr.  Jones  ?  " 

"  Oh !  beg  pardon ;  that  is  what  we  call  him  in  the 
room.     He  has  got  such  a  curious  laugh." 

"Oh!  I  know  the  gent.  He  is  a  retired  doctor.  I 
wish  he'd  laugh  less  and  buy  more  :  and  he  gave  you 
five  pounds  towards  the  young  gentleman's  arm-chair  ! 
Well,  I  should  as  soon  have  expected  blood  from  a  flint. 
You  have  got  five  pounds  to  pay,  sir :  so  now  the  chair 
will  cost  your  mamma  ten  shillings.  Give  him  the  order 
and  the  change,  Mr.  Jones." 

Christopher  and  Rosa  talked  this  over  in  the  room 
whilst  the  men  were  looking  out  their  purchases. 
"  Come,"  said  E-osa ;  "  now  I  forgive  him  sneering  at 
me ;  his  heart  is  not  really  hard,  you  see."  Staines,  on 
the  contrary,  was  very  angry.  "  AVhat ! "  he  cried, 
"  pity  a  boy  who  made  one  bad  bargain,  that,  after 
all,  was  not  a  very  bad  bargain ;  and  he  had  no  kindness, 
nor  even  common  humanity,  for  my  beautiful  Rosa, 
inexperienced  as  a  child,  and  buying  for  her  husband, 
like  a  good,  affectionate,  honest  creature,  amongst  a  lot 
of  sliarpers  and  hard-hearted  cynics  —  like  himself." 

"It  ivas  cruel  of  him,"  said  Rosa,  altering  her  mind 
in  a  moment,  and  half  inclined  to  cry. 

This  made  Christopher  furious,  "The  ill-natured, 
crotchety,  old  —  the  fact  is,  he  is  a  misogynist." 

"Oh,  the  wretch!"  said  Rosa  warmly.  "And  what 
is  that  ?  " 

"  A  woman-hater." 

"  Oh  !  is  that  all  ?  Why,  so  do  I  —  after  that  Florence 
Cole.  Women  are  mean,  heartless  things.  Give  me 
men  J  tliey  are  loyal  and  true." 


A   SIMPLETON.  113 

"  All  of  tliem  ?  "  inquired  Christopher,  a  little  satiri- 
cally.    "  Read  the  papers." 

"  Every  soul  of  them,"  said  Mrs.  Staines,  passing 
loftily  over  the  i)roposed  test.  "  That  is,  all  the  ones  1 
care  about ;  and  that  is  my  own,  own  one." 

Disagreeable  creatures  to  have  about  one  —  these 
simpletons ! 

Mrs.  Staines  took  Christopher  to  shops  to  buy  the 
remaining  requisites  :  and  in  three  days  more  the  house 
was  furnished,  two  female  servants  engaged,  and  the 
couple  took  their  luggage  over  to  the  Bijou. 

Eosa  was  excited  and  happy  at  the  novelty  of  posses- 
sion and  authority,  and  that  close  sense  of  house  pro- 
prietorship which  belongs  to  woman.  By  dinner-time 
she  could  have  told  you  how  many  shelves  there  were 
in  every  cupboard,  and  knew  the  Bijou  by  heart  in  a 
way  that  Christopher  never  knew  it.  All  this  ended, 
as  running  about  and  excitement  generally  does,  with 
my  lady  being  exhausted,  and  lax  with  fatigue.  So 
then  he  made  her  lie  down  on  a  little  couch,  while  he 
went  through  his  accounts. 

When  he  had  examined  all  the  bills  carefully  he  looked 
very  grave,  and  said,  "  Who  would  believe  this  ?  We 
began  Avith  three  thousand  pounds.  It  was  to  last  us 
several  years  —  till  I  got  a  good  practice.  Eosa,  there 
is  only  fourteen  hundred  and  forty  pounds  left." 

"  Oh,  impossible  !  "  said  Eosa.  "  Oh,  dear  !  Avhy  did 
I  ever  enter  a  saleroom  ?  " 

"Xo,  no,  my  darling;  you  were  bitten  once  or  twice, 
but  you  made  some  good  bargains  too.  Eemember  there 
was  four  hundred  pounds  set  apart  for  my  life  policy." 

"  What  a  waste  of  money  !  " 

"  Your  father  did  not  think  so.  Then  the  lease  :  the 
premium  ;  repairs  of  the  drains  that  would  have  poisoned 
my  Eosa ;  turning  the  coach-house  into  a  dispensary  ; 
8 


114  A  SESIPLETON. 

painting,  papering,  and  fnrnisliing ;  cliina,  and  linen, 
and  everything  to  buy.  We  must  look  at  this  seriously. 
Only  fourteen  hundred  and  forty  pounds  left.  A  slow 
profession.  No  friends.  I  have  quarrelled  vi^ith  Uncle 
Philip :  you  with  Mrs.  Cole ;  and  her  husband  would 
have  launched  me." 

^'And  it  was  to  please  her  we  settled  here.  Oh,  I 
could  kill  her:  nasty  cat!" 

"  Never  mind ;  it  is  not  a  case  for  despondency,  but  it 
is  for  prudence.  All  Ave  have  to  do  is  to  look  the  thing 
in  the  face,  and  l^e  very  economical  in  everything.  I  had 
better  give  you  an  allowance  for  housekeeping;  and  I 
earnestly  beg  you  to  buy  'things  yourself  whilst  you  are 
a  poor  man's  wife,  and  pay  ready  money  for  everything. 
My  mother  was  a  great  manager,  and  she  always  said, 
^  There  is  but  one  way :  be  your  own  market-woman,  and 
pay  on  the  spot ;  never  let  the  tradesmen  get  you  on 
their  books,  or,  what  with  false  weight,  double  charges, 
and  the  things  your  servants  order  that  never  enter  the 
house,  you  lose  more  than  a  hundred  a  year  by  cheating.' " 

Eosa  yielded  a  languid  assent  to  this  part  of  his  dis- 
course, and  it  hardly  seemed  to  enter  her  mind ;  but  she 
raised  no  objection;  and  in  due  course  he  made  her  a 
special  allowance  for  housekeeping. 

It  soon  transpired  that  medical  advice  was  to  be  had, 
gratis,  at  the  Bijou,  from  eight  till  ten :  and  there  was 
generally  a  good  attendance.  But  a  week  passed,  and 
not  one  patient  came  of  the  class  this  couple  must  live 
by.  Cliristopher  set  this  down  to  what  people  call  "the 
transition  period  : "  his  Kent  patients  had  lost  him  ;  his 
London  patients  not  found  him.  He  wrote  to  all  his 
patients  in  the  country,  and  many  of  his  pupils  at  the 
university,  to  let  them  know  where  he  was  settled :  and 
then  he  waited. 

Not  a  creature  came. 


A   SIMPLETON.  115 

Kosa  bore  this  very  well  for  a  time,  so  long  as  the 
house  was  a  novelty;  but  when  that  excitement  was 
worn  out,  she  began  to  be  very  dull,  and  used  t(j  come 
and  entice  him  out  to  walk  with  her :  he  would  look 
wistfully  at  her,  but  object  that,  if  he  left  the  house,  he 
should  be  sure  to  lose  a  patient. 

"  Oh,  they  won't  come  any  more  for  our  staying  in  — 
tiresome  things ! "  said  Kosa. 

But  Christopher  would  kiss  her,  and  remain  firm. 
^'  My  love,"  said  he,  "  you  do  not  realize  how  hard  a 
fight  there  is  before  us.  How  should  you  ?  You  are 
very  young.  No,  for  your  sake,  I  must  not  throw  a 
chance  away.  Write  to  your  female  friends  :  that  will 
while  away  an  hour  or  two." 

"What,  after  that  Florence  Cole  ?" 

"Write  to  those  who  have  not  made  such  violent 
professions." 

"  So  I  will,  dear.  Especially  to  those  that  are  married 
and  come  to  London.  Oh,  and  I'll  write  to  that  cold- 
blooded thing.  Lady  Cicely  Treherne.  Why  do  you  shake 
your  head  ?  " 

"  Did  I  ?  I  was  not  aware.  Well,  dear,  if  ladies  of 
rank  were  to  come  here,  I  fear  they  might  make  you 
discontented  with  your  lot." 

"  All  the  women  on  earth  could  not  do  that.  How- 
ever, the  chances  are  she  will  not  come  near  me  :  she 
left  the  school  quite  a  big  girl,  an  immense  girl,  when  I 
was  only  twelve.  She  used  to  smile  at  my  capriccios ; 
and  once  she  kissed  me  —  actually.  She  was  an  awful 
Sawny,  though,  and  so  affected  :  I  think  I  will  write  to 
her." 

These  letters  brought  just  one  lady,  a  Mrs.  Turner, 
who  talked  to  Ilosa  very  gliljly  about  herself,  and  amused 
Eosa  twice  :  at  the  third  visit,  Eosa  tried  to  change  the 
conversation.     Mrs.  Turner  instantly  got  up,  and  went 


116  A   SIMPLETON. 

away.     She  could   not  bear   tlie   sound  of  tlie   human 
voice,  unless  it  was  talking  about  her  and  her  affairs. 

And  now  Staines  began  to  feel  downright  uneasy. 
Income  was  going  steadily  out :  not  a  shilling  coming 
in.  The  lame,  the  blind,  and  the  sick  frequented  his 
dispensary,  and  got  his  skill  out  of  him  gratis,  and  some- 
times a  little  physic,  a  little  wine,  and  other  things  that 
cost  him  money :  but  of  the  patients  that  pay,  not  one 
came  to  his  front  door. 

He  walked  round  and  round  his  little  yard,  like  a 
hyena  in  its  cage,  waiting,  Avaiting,  waiting:  and  oh! 
how  he  envied  the  lot  of  those  who  can  hunt  for  Avork, 
instead  of  having  to  stay  at  home  and  wait  for  others  to 
come,  whose  will  they  cannot  influence.  His  heart  began 
to  sicken  with  hope  deferred,  and  dim  forebodings  of  the 
future  ;  and  he  saw,  Avith  grief,  that  his  Avife  Avas  getting 
duller  and  duller,  and  that  her  days  dragged  more  heavily 
far  than  his  own  ;  for  he  could  study. 

At  last  his  knocker  began  to  shoAv  signs  of  life :  his 
visitors  were  physicians.  His  lectures  on  "  Diagnosis  " 
Avere  Avell  knoAvn  to  them ;  and  one  after  another  found 
him  out.  They  were  polite,  kind,  even  friendly ;  but 
here  it  ended  :  these  gentlemen,  of  course,  did  not  resign 
their  patients  to  him ;  and  the  inferior  class  of  practi- 
tioners avoided  his  door  like  a  pestilence. 

Mrs.  Staines,  Avho  had  ahvays  lived  for  amusement, 
could  strike  out  no  fixed  occupation  ;  her  time  hung  like 
lead;  the  house  Avas  small;  and  in  small  houses  the 
faults  of  servants  run  against  the  mistress,  and  she 
can't  help  seeing  them,  and  all  the  Avorse  for  her.  It  is 
easier  to  keep  things  clean  in  the  country,  and  Eosa  had 
a  high  standard,  Avhicli  her  tAVO  servants  could  never 
quite  attain.  This  annoyed  her,  and  she  began  to  scold 
a  little.  They  answered  civilly,  but  in  other  respects 
remained  imperfect  beings  ;  they  laid  out  every  shilling 


A   SIMPLETON.  117 

they  earned  in  fiiiory  ;  and,  this,  I  mil  ashamed  to  say, 
irritated  Mrs.  Staines,  who  was  wearing  out  her  wedding 
garments,  and  liad  no  excuse  for  buying,  and  Staines  had 
begged  her  to  be  economicah  The  more  they  dressed, 
the  more  she  scolded  ;  they  began  to  answer.  She  gave 
the  cook  warning ;  the  otlier,  though  not  on  good  terms 
with  the  cook,  liad  a  gush  of  esjjvlt  de  corps  directly,  and 
gave  Mrs.  Staines  warning. 

Mrs.  Staines  told  her  husband  all  this  :  he  took  her 
part,  though  without  openly  interfering;  and  they  had 
two  new  servants,  not  so  good  as  the  last. 

This  worried  Eosa  sadly ;  but  it  was  a  flea-bite  to  the 
deeper  nature,  and  more  forecasting  mind  of  her  hus- 
band, still  doomed  to  pace  that  miserable  yard,  like  a 
hyena,  chafing,  seeking,  longing  for  the  patient  that 
never  came. 

Rosa  used  to  look  out  of  his  dressing-room  window, 
and  see  him  pace  the  yard.  At  first,  tears  of  pity  stood 
in  her  eyes.  By  and  by  she  got  angry  with  the  world  ; 
and  at  last,  strange  to  say,  a  little  irritated  with  him. 
It  is  hard  for  a  weak  woman  to  keep  up  all  her  respect 
for  the  man  that  fails. 

One  day,  after  watching  him  a  long  time  unseen, 
she  got  excited,  put  on  her  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  ran 
down  to  him  :  she  took  him  by  the  arm  :  "  If  you  love 
me,  come  out  of  this  prison,  and  walk  with  me ;  we  are 
too  miserable.  I  shall  be  your  first  patient  if  this  goes 
on  much  longer."  He  looked  at  her,  saw  she  was  very 
excited,  and  had  better  be  humored;  so  he  kissed  her  and 
just  said,  with  a  melancholy  smile,  "How  poor  are  they 
that  have  not  patience  !  "  Then  he  put  on  his  hat,  and 
walked  in  the  Park  and  Kensington  Gardens  with  her. 
The  season  was  just  beginning.  There  were  carriages 
enough,  and  gay  Amazons  enough,  to  make  poor  Rosa 
sigh  more  than  once. 


118  A  SIMPLETON. 

Christopher  heard  the  sigh ;  and  pressed  her  arm,  and 
said,  "  Courage,  love,  I  hope  to  see  yon  among  them  yet." 

"  The  sooner  the  better,"  said  she,  a  little  hardly. 

"  And,  meantime,  Avhich  of  them  all  is  as  beautiful  as 
you  ?  " 

"  All  I  know  is,  they  are  more  attractive.  Who  looks 
at  me,  walking  tamely  by  ?  " 

Christopher  said  nothing :  but  these  words  seemed  to 
imply  a  thirst  for  admiration,  and  made  him  a  little 
uneasy. 

By  and  by  the  walk  put  the  swift-changing  Eosa  in 
spirits,  and  she  began  to  chat  gayly,  and  hung  prattling 
and  beaming  on  her  husband's  arm,  when  they  entered 
Curzon  Street.  Here,  however,  occurred  an  incident, 
trifling  in  itself,  but  unpleasant.  Dr.  Staines  saw  one  of 
his  best  Kentish  patients  get  feebly  out  of  his  carriage, 
and  call  on  Dr.  Barr.  He  started,  and  stopped.  Eosa 
asked  what  was  the  matter.  He  told  her.  She  said, 
^'  We  are  unfortunate." 

Staines  said  nothing ;  he  only  quickened  his  pace  ; 
but  he  was  greatly  disturbed.  She  expected  him  to 
complain  that  she  had  dragged  him  out,  and  lost  him 
that  first  chance.  But  he  said  nothing.  When  they  got 
home,  he  asked  the  servant  had  anybody  called. 

"No,  sir." 

"Surely  you  are  mistaken,  Jane.  A  gentleman  in  a 
carriage  ! " 

"  Not  a  creature  have  been  since  you  went  out,  sir." 

"Well,  then,  dearest,"  said  he  sweetly,  "we  have 
nothing  to  reproach  ourselves  with."  Then  he  knit  his 
brow  gloomily.  "  It  is  worse  than  I  thought.  It  seems 
even  one's  country  patients  go  to  another  doctor  when 
they  visit  London.     It  is  hard.     It  is  hard." 

Eosa  leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  curled  round 
him,  as  one  she  Avould  shield  against  the  world's  injus- 


A   SIMPLETON.  110 

tice ;  but  she  said  nothing ;  she  was  a  little  frightened 
at  his  eye  that  lowered,  and  his  noble  frame  that  trem- 
bled a  little,  with  ire  suppressed. 

Two  days  after  this,  a  brougham  drove  up  to  the  door, 
and  a  tallish,  fattish,  pasty-faced  man  got  out,  and 
inquired  for  Dr.  Staines. 

He  was  shown  into  the  dining-room,  and  told  Jane  he 
had  come  to  consult  the  doctor. 

Rosa  had  peeped  over  the  stairs,  all  curiosit}' ;  she 
glided  noiselessly  down,  and  with  love's  swift  foot  got 
into  the  yard  before  Jane.  "  He  is  come !  he  is  come ! 
Kiss  me.'' 

Dr.  Staines  kissed  her  first,  and  then  asked  who  was 
come. 

^'Oh,  nobody  of  any  consequence.  Only  the  first 
patient.     Kiss  me  again." 

Dr.  Staines  kissed  her  again,  and  then  was  for  going 
to  the  first  patient. 

"  iSTo,"  said  she  ;  "  not  yet.  I  met  a  doctor's  wife  at 
Dr.  Mayne's,  and  she  told  me  things.  You  must  always 
keep  them  waiting ;  or  else  they  think  nothing  of  you. 
Such  a  funny  woman  !  ^  Treat  'em  like  dogs,  my  dear,' 
she  said.  But  I  told  her  they  wouldn't  come  to  be 
treated  like  dogs  or  any  other  animal." 

"  You  had  better  have  kept  that  to  yourself,  I  think." 

"  Oh !  if  you  are  going  to  be  disagreeable,  good-by. 
You  can  go  to  your  patient,  sir.  Christie,  dear,  if  he  is 
Tery  —  very  ill  —  and  I'm  sure  I  hope  he  is  —  oh,  how 
wicked  I  am ;  may  I  have  a  new  bonnet  ?  " 

"  If  you  really  want  one." 

On  the  patient's  card  was  "Mr.  Pettigrew,  47  Man- 
chester Square." 

As  soon  as  Staines  entered  the  room,  the  first  patient 
told  him  who  and  what  he  was,  a  retired  ciWlian  from 
India;  but  he  had  got  a  son  there   still,  a  very  rising 


120  A    SIMPLETON. 

]ii;in ;  wanted  to  be  a  parson ;  hut  lie  would  not  stand 
that ;  had  profession  ;  don't  rise  by  merit ;  very  hard  to 
rise  at  all ;  —  no,  India  was  the  place.  "  As  for  me,  I 
made  my  fortune  there  in  ten  years.  Obliged  to  leave 
it  now  —  invalid  this  many  years  ;  no  tone.  Tried  two 
or  three  doctors  in  this  neighborhood ;  heard  there  was 
a  new  one,  had  written  a  book  on  something.  Thought 
I  would  try  /ihn." 

To  stop  him,  Staines  requested  to  feel  his  pulse,  and 
examine  his  tongue  and  eye. 

"  You  are  suffering  from  indigestion,"  said  he.  "  1 
will  write  you  a  prescription ;  but  if  you  want  to  get 
well,  you  must  simplify  your  diet  very  much.'' 

While  he  was  writing  the  prescription,  off  went  this 
patient's  tongue,  and  ran  through  the  topics  of  the  day 
and  into  his  family  history  again. 

Staines  listened  politely.  He  could  afford  it,  having 
only  this  one. 

At  last,  the  first  patient,  having  delivered  an  octavo 
volume  of  nothing,  rose  to  go;  but  it  seems  that  speak- 
ing an  "  infinite  deal  of  nothing "  exhausts  the  body, 
though  it  does  not  affect  the  mind ;  for  the  first  patient 
sank  down  in  his  chair  again.  "  I  have  excited  myself 
too  much  —  feel  rather  faint." 

Staines  saw  no  signs  of  coming  syncope ;  he  rang  the 
bell  quietly,  and  ordered  a  decanter  of  sherry  to  be 
brought ;  the  first  patient  filled  himself  a  glass ;  then 
another;  and  went  off,  revived*  to  chatter  elsewhere. 
lUit  at  the  door  he  said,  "  I  had  always  a  running  account 
with  Dr.  Mivar.  I  suppose  you  don't  object  to  that 
system.     Double  fee  the  first  visit,  single  afterwards." 

Dr.  Staines  bowed  a  little  stiffly ;  he  would  have  pre- 
ferred the  money.  However,  he  looked  at  the  Blue 
Book,  and  found  his  visitor  lived  at  47  Manchester 
Square  ;  so  that  removed  his  anxiety. 


A    SIMPLETON.  121 

The  first  patient  called  every  other  clay,  chattered 
nineteen  to  the  dozen,  was  exhausted,  drank  two  glasses 
of  sherry,  and  drove  away. 

Soon  after  this  a  second  patient  called.  This  one  was 
a  deputy  patient  —  Collett,  a  retired  butler  —  kept  a 
lodging-house,  and  waited  at  parties  ;  he  lived  close  by, 
but  had  a  married  daughter  in  Chelsea.  Would  the 
doctor  visit  her,  and  he  would  be  responsible  ? 

Staines  paid  the  woman  a  visit  or  two,  and  treated 
her  so  effectually,  that  soon  her  visits  were  paid  to  him. 
She  was  cured,  and  Staines,  who  by  this  time  wanted  to 
see  money,  sent  to  Collett. 

Collett  did  not  answer. 

Staines  wrote  warmly. 

Collett  dead  silent. 

Staines  employed  a  solicitor. 

Collett  said  he  had  recommended  the  patient,  that  was 
all.  He  had  never  said  he  would  pay  her  debts.  That 
was  her  husband's  business. 

Now  her  husband  was  the  mate  of  a  ship ;  would  not 
be  in  England  for  eighteen  months. 

The  woman,  visited  by  lawyer's  clerk,  cried  bitterly, 
and  said  she  and  her  children  had  scarcely  enough  to  eat. 

Lawyer  advised  Staines  to  abandon  the  case,  and  pay 
him  two  pounds  fifteen  shillings  expenses.     He  did  so. 

"  This  is  damnable,"  said  he.  "  I  must  get  it  out  of 
Pettigrew;  by-the-by,  he  has  not  been  here  this  two 
days." 

He  waited  another  day  for  Pettigrew,  and  then  wrote 
to  him.  No  answer.  Called.  Pettigrew  gone  abroad. 
House  in  Manchester  Square  to  let. 

Staines  went  to  the  house-asrent  with  his  tale.  Asrent 
was  impenetrable  at  first;  but,  at  last,  won  by  tlie 
doctor's  manner  and  his  unhappiness,  referred  him  to 
Pettigrew's   solicitor ;   the   solicitor   was   a  respectable 


122  A"  SIMPLETON. 

man,  and  said  lie  would  forward  the  claim  to  Pettigrew 
in  Paris. 

But  by  this  time  Pettigrew  was  chattering  and  guz- 
zling  in  Berlin  ;  and  thence  he  got  to  St.  Petersburg.  In 
that  stronghold  of  gluttony,  he  gormandized  more  than 
ever,  and,  being  unable  to  talk  it  off  his  stomach,  as  in 
other  cities,  had  apoplexy,  and  died. 

But  long  before  this  Staines  saw  his  money  was  as 
irrecoverable  as  his  sherry;  and  he  said  to  Eosa,  "I 
wonder  whether  I  shall  ever  live  to  curse  the  human 
race  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid !  "  said  Eosa.  "  Oh,  they  use  you 
cruelly,  my  poor,  poor  Christie  ! " 

Thus  for  months  the  young  doctor's  patients  bled  him, 
and  that  was  all. 

And  Eosa  got  more  and  more  moped  at  being  in  the 
house  so  much,  a^nd  pestered  Christopher  to  take  her 
out,  and  he  declined:  and,  being  a  man  hard  to  beat, 
took  to  writing  on  medical  subjects,  in  hopes  of  getting 
some  money  from  the  various  medical  and  scientific  pub- 
lications ;  but  he  found  it  as  hard  to  get  the  wedge  in 
there  as  to  get  patients. 

At  last  Eosa's  remonstrances  began  to  rise  into  some- 
thing that  sounded  like  reproaches.  One  Sunday  she 
came  to  him  in  her  bonnet,  and  interrupted  his  studies, 
to  say  he  might  as  well  lay  down  the  pen,  and  talk. 
Nobody  would  publish  anything  he  wrote. 

Christopher  frowned,  but  contained  himself,  and  laid 
down  the  pen. 

"  I  might  as  well  not  be  married  at  all  as  be  a  doctor's 
wife.  You  are  never  seen  out  with  me,  not  even  to 
church.  Do  behave  like  a  Christian,  and  come  to  church 
with  me  now." 

Dr.  Staines  shook  his  head. 

"  Why,  I  wouldn't  miss  church  for  all  the  world.    Any 


A   SIMPLETON.  123 

excitement  is  better  than  always  moping.  Come  over 
the  water  with  me.  The  time  Jane  and  I  went,  the 
clergyman  read  a  paper  that  Mr.  Brown  had  fallen  down 
in  a  fit.  There  was  such  a  rush  directly,  and  I'm  sure 
fifty  ladies  went  out  —  fancy,  all  Mrs.  Browns  !  Wasn't 
that  fun  ?  " 

"  Fun  ?  I  don't  see  it.  Well,  Eosa,  your  mind  is 
evidently  better  adapted  to  diversion  than  mine  is.  Go 
you  to  church,  love,  and  I'll  continue  my  studies." 

"Then  all  I  can  say  is,  I  wish  I  was  back  in  my 
father's  house.  Husband  !  friend  !  companion  !  —  I  have 
none." 

Then  she  burst  out  crying  violently ;  and,  being  shocked 
at  what  she  had  said,  and  at  the  agony  it  had  brought 
into  her  husband's  face,  she  went  off  into  hysterics ;  and 
as  his  heart  would  not  let  him  bellow  at  her,  or  empty  a 
bucket  on  her  as  he  would  on  another  patient,  she  had 
a  good  long  bout  of  them :  and  got  her  way,  for  she 
broke  up  his  studies  for  that  day,  at  all  events. 

Even  after  the  hysterics  were  got  under,  she  continued 
to  m,oan  and  sigh  very  prettily,  with  her  lovely,  languid 
head  pillowed  on  her  husband's  arm ;  in  a  word,  tliough 
the  hysterics  were  real,  yet  this  innocent  young  person 
had  the  presence  of  mind  to  postpone  entire  convales- 
cence, and  lay  herself  out  to  be  petted  all  day.  But 
fate  willed  it  otherwise :  while  she  was  sighing  and 
moaning,  came  to  the  door  a  scurrying  of  feet,  and  then 
a  sharp,  persistent  ringing  that  meant  something.  The 
moaner  cocked  eye  and  ear,  and  said,  in  her  every-day 
voice,  which,  coming  so  suddenly,  sounded  very  droll, 
"  What  is  that,  I  wonder  ?  " 

Jane  hurried  to  the  street-door,  and  Eosa  recovered  by 
magic ;  and,  preferring  gossip  to  hysterics,  in  an  almost 
gleeful  whisi:»er,  ordered  Christopher  to  open  the  door  of 
the  study.  The  Bijou  was  so  small  that  the  following 
dialogue  rang  in  their  eai'S  ;  —^ 


124  A   SIMPLETON. 

A  boy  in  buttons  gasi)ed  out,  "  Oh,  if  you  please,  will 
you  ast  the  doctor  to  come  round  directly;  there's  a 
haccident." 

"  La,  bless  me  ! "  said  Jane,  and  never  budged. 

"  Yes,  miss.  It's  our  missus's  little  girl  fallen  right 
oif  an  i-chair,  and  cut  her  head  dreadful,  and  smothered 
in  blood." 

"  La,  to  be  sure  !  "     And  she  waited  steadily  for  more. 

"  Ay,  and  missus  she  fainted  right  off ;  and  I've  been 
to  the  regler  doctor,  which  he's  out;  and  Sarah,  the 
housemaid,  said  I  had  better  come  here ;  you  was  only 
just  set  up,  she  said ;  you  w^ouldn't  have  so  much  to  do, 
says  she." 

"That  is  all  she  knows,"  said  Jane.  "Why,  our 
master  —  they  pulls  him  in  pieces  which  is  to  have  him 
fust." 

"  What  an  awful  liar  !  Oh,  you  good  girl ! "  whispered 
Dr.  Staines  and  Eosa  in  one  breath. 

"  Ah,  well,"  said  Buttons,  "  any  Avay,  Sarah  says  she 
knows  you  are  clever,  'cos  her  little  girl  as  lives  with 
her  mother,  and  calls  Sarah  aunt,  has  bin  to  your  'spen- 
sary  with  ringworm,  and  you  cured  her  right  off." 

"  Ay,  and  a  good  many  more,"  said  Jane,  loftily.  She 
was  a  housemaid  of  imagination  ;  and  while  Staines  was 
putting  some  lint  and  an  instrument  case  into  his  pocket, 
she  proceeded  to  relate  a  number  of  miraculous  cures. 
Dr.  Staines  interrupted  them  by  suddenly  emerging,  and 
inviting  Buttons  to  take  him  to  the  house. 

Mrs.  Staines  was  so  pleased  with  Jane  for  cracking  up 
the  doctor,  that  she  gave  her  five  shillings ;  and,  after 
that,  used  to  talk  to  her  a  great  deal  more  than  to  the 
cook,  which  judicious  conduct  presently  set  all  three  by 
the  ears. 

Buttons  took  the  doctor  to  a  fine  house  in  the  same 
street,  and  told  him  his  mistress's  name  on  tlie  way  — 


A   SIMrLETON.  125 

Mrs.  Lucas.  ^  He  was  taken  u\)  to  the  nursery,  and  found 
Mrs.  Lucas  seated,  crying  and  lamenting,  and  a  woman 
holding  a  little  girl  of  about  seven,  whose  brow  had  been 
cut  open  by  the  fender,  on  whipli  she  had  fallen  from  a 
chair  ;  it  looked  very  ugly,  and  was  even  now  bleeding. 

Dr.  Staines  lost  no  time ;  he  examined  the  wound 
keenly,  and  then  said  kindly  to  Mrs.  Lucas,  "  I  am  happy 
to  tell  you  it  is  not  serious.'^  He  then  asked  for  a  large 
basin  and  some  tepid  water,  and  bathed  it  so  softly  and 
soothingly  that  the  child  soon  became  composed;  and 
the  mother  discovered  the  artist  at  once.  He  compressed 
the  w^ound,  and  explained  to  Mrs.  Lucas  that  the  })rinci- 
pal  thing  really  was  to  avoid  ?u\  ugly  scar.  "  There  is 
no  danger,"  said  he.  He  then  bound  the  wound  neatly 
up,  and  had  the  girl  put  to  bed.  "  You  will  not  wake 
her  at  any  particular  hour,  nurse.  Let  her  sleep.  Have 
a  little  strong  beef-tea  ready,  and  give  it  her  at  any  hour, 
night  or  day,  she  asks  for  it.  But  do  not  force  it  on  her, 
or  you  will  do  her  more  harm  than  good.  She  had  better 
sleep  before  she  eats." 

Mrs.  Lucas  begged  him  to  come  every  morning ;  and, 
as  he  was  going,  she  shook  hands  with  him,  and  the  soft 
palm  deposited  a  hard  substance  wrapped  in  paper.  He 
took  it  with  professional  gravity  and  seeming  uncon- 
sciousness ;  but,  once  outside  the  house,  went  home  on 
wings.  He  ran  up  to  the  drawing-room,  and  found  his 
wife  seated,  and  playing  at  reading.  He  threw  himself 
on  his  knees,  and  the  fee  into  her  lap  ;  and,  while  she 
unfolded  the  paper  with  an  ejaculation  of  pleasure,  he 
said,  "  Darling,  the  first  real  patient  —  the  first  real  fee. 
It  is  yours  to  buy  the  new  bonnet." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  !  "  said  she,  with  her  eyes  glistening. 
"  But  I'm  afraid  one  can't  get  a  bonnet  fit  to  wear  —  for- 
a  guinea." 

Dr.  Staines  visited  his  little  patient  every  day,  and 


126  A   SIMrLETON. 

received  his  guinea.  Mrs.  Lucas  also  called  him  in  for 
her  own  little  ailments,  and  they  were  the  best  possible 
kind  of  ailments :  for,  being  imaginary,  there  was  no 
limit  to  them. 

Then  did  Mrs.  Staines  turn  jealous  of  her  husband. 
"  They  never  ask  me,"  said  she ;  "  and  I  am  moped  to 
death." 

"  It  is  hard,"  said  Christopher,  sadly.  "  But  have  a 
little  patience.  Society  will  come  to  you  long  before 
practice  comes  to  me." 

About  two  o'clock  one  afternoon  a  carriage  and  pair 
drove  up,  and  a  gorgeous  footman  delivered  a  card  — 
"  Lady  Cicely  Treherne." 

Of  course  Mrs.  Staines  was  at  home,  and  only  with- 
held by  propriety  from  bounding  into  the  passage  to 
meet  her  school-fellow.  However,  she  composed  herself 
in  the  drawing-room,  and  presently  the  door  was  opened, 
and  a  very  tall  young  woman,  richly  but  not  gayly 
dressed,  drifted  into  the  room,  and  stood  there  a  statue 
of  composure. 

Eosa  had  risen  to  fly  to  her ;  but  the  reverence  a  girl 
of  eighteen  strikes  into  a  child  of  twelve  hung  about  her 
still,  and  she  came  timidly  forward,  blushing  and  S]xark- 
ling,  a  curious  contrast  in  color  and  mind  to  her  visitor ; 
for  Lady  Cicely  was  Languor  in  person — her  hair  whitey- 
brown,  her  face  a  fine  oval,  but  almost  colorless ;  her  eyes 
a  pale  gray,  her  neck  and  hands  incomparably  white  and 
beautiful  —  a  lymphatic  young  lady,  a  live  antidote  to 
emotion.  However,  Eosa's  beauty,  timidity,  and  undis- 
guised affectionateness  were  something  so  different  from 
what  she  was  used  to  in  the  world  of  fashion,  that  she 
actually  smiled,  and  held  out  both  her  hands  a  little  way. 
Kosa  seized  them,  and  pressed  them ;  they  left  her,  and 
remained  passive  and  limp. 

"O  Lady  Cicely,"  said  Eosa,  "how  kind  of  you  to 
come." 


A   SIMPLETON.  127 

"  How  kind  of  you  to  send  to  me,"  was  the  polite,  but 
perfectly  cool  reply.  "  But  how  you  are  gwown,  and  — 
may  I  say  impwoved  ?  —  You  la  petite  Lusignan  !  It  is 
incwedible,"  lisped  her  ladyship,  very  calmly. 

"I  was  only  a  child,"  said  Rosa.  "You  were  always 
so  beautiful  and  tall,  and  kind  to  a  little  monkey  like  me. 
Oh,  pray  sit  down.  Lady  Cicely,  and  talk  of  old  times." 

She  drew  her  gently  to  the  sofa,  and  they  sat  down 
hand  in  hand ;  but  Lady  Cicely's  high-bred  reserve  made 
her  a  very  poor  gossip  about  anything  that  touched  her- 
self and  her  family;  so  Rosa,  though  no  egotist,  was 
drawn  into  talking  about  herself  more  than  she  would 
have  done  had  she  deliberately  planned  the  conversation. 
But  here  was  an  old  school-fellow,  and  a  singularly  polite 
listener,  and  so  out  came  her  love,  her  genuine  happi- 
ness, her  particular  griefs,  and  especially  the  crowning 
grievance,  no  society,  moped  to  death,  etc. 

Lady  Cicely  could  hardly  understand  the  sentiment  in 
a  woman  who  so  evidently  loved  her  husband.  "So- 
ciety ! "  said  she,  after  due  reflection,  "  why,  it  is  a  boa." 
(And  here  I  may  as  well  exi^lain  that  Lady  Cicely  spoke 
certain  words  falsely,  and  others  affectedly ;  and  as  for 
the  letter  r,  she  could  say  it  if  she  made  a  hearty  effort, 
but  was  generally  too  lazy  to  throw  her  leg  over  it.) 
"  Society !  I'm  dwenched  to  death  with  it.  If  I  could 
only  catch  fiah  like  other  women,  and  love  somebody,  I 
would  much  rather  have  a  tete-a-tete  with  him  than  go 
teawing  about  all  day  and  all  night,  from  one  unintwi  st- 
ing cwowd  to  another.  To  be  sure,"  said  she,  puzzling 
the  matter  out,  "  you  are  a  beauty,  and  would  be  more 
looked  at." 

"The  idea!  and  —  oh  no!  no!   it  is   not   that.     But 
even  in  the  country  we  had  always  some  society." 

"  Well,  dyar,  believe  me,  with  your  appeawance,  you 
can  have  as  much  society  as  you  please ;  but  it  will  boa 


128  A   SIMPLETON. 

yon  to  death,  as  it  does  me,  and  then  you  will  long  to  be 
left  quiet  with  a  sensible  man  who  loves  you." 

Said  llosa,  "  When  shall  I  have  another  tete-a-tete  with 
you,  I  wonder  ?  Oh,  it  has  been  such  a  comfort  to  me. 
Bless  you  for  coming.  There  —  I  wrote  to  Cecilia,  and 
Emily,  and  Mrs.  Bosanquet  that  is  now,  and  all  my 
sworn  friends,  and  to  think  of  you  being  the  one  to 
come  —  you  that  never  kissed  me  but  once,  and  an  earl's 
daughter  into  the  bargain." 

•'Ha!  ha!  ha!"  —  Lady  Cicely  actually  laughed  for 
once  in  a  way,  and  did  not  feel  the  effort.  ''  As  for  kiss- 
ing," said  she,  "  if  I  fall  shawt,  fawgive  me.  I  was  uevaa 
vewy  demonstwative." 

"  No ;  and  I  have  had  a  lesson.  That  Morence  Cole 
—  Florence  Whiting  that  was,  you  know  —  was  always 
kissing  me,  and  she  has  turned  out  a  traitor.  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  her."     And  she  did. 

Lady  Cicely  thought  Mrs.  Staines  a  little  too  unre- 
served in  her  conversation ;  but  was  so  charmed  with  her 
sweetness  and  freshness  that  she  kept  up  the  acquaint- 
ance, and  called  on  her  twice  a  week  during  the  season. 
At  first  she  wondered  that  her  visits  were  not  returned  ; 
but  Eosa  let  out  that  she  was  ashamed  to  call  on  foot  in 
Grosvenor  Square. 

Lady  Cicely  shrugged  her  beautiful  shoulders  a  little  at 
that ;  but  she  continued  to  do  the  visiting,  and  to  enjoy  the 
simple,  innocent  rapture  with  which  she  was  received. 

This  lady's  pronunciation  of  many  words  was  false  or 
affected.  She  said  "  good  murning  "  for  "  good  morning," 
and  turned  other  vowels  to  diphthongs,  and  played  two 
or  three  pranks  with  her  "  r's."  But  we  cannot  be  all 
imperfection :  with  her  pronunciation  her  folly  came  to 
a  full  stop.  I  really  believe  she  lisped  less  nonsense  and 
bad  taste  in  a  year  than  some  of  us  articulate  in  a  day. 
To  be  sure,  folly  is  generally  uttered  in  a  hurry,  and  she 


A   SIMPLETON.  1-JO 

was  too  deplorably  lazy  to  speak  fast  on  any  occasion 
whatever. 

One  day  jNIrs.  Staines  took  her  up-stairs,  and  showed 
her  from  the  back  window  her  husband  pacing  the  yard, 
waiting  for  patients.  Lady  Cicely  folded  her  arms,  and 
contemplated  him  at  first  with  a  sort  of  zoological  curi- 
osity. Gentleman  pacing  back  yard,  like  hyena,  she  had 
never  seen  before. 

At  last  she  opened  her  mouth  in  a  whisper,  "  AMiat  is 
he  doing  ?  " 

"  Waiting  for  patients." 

"  Oh  !     Waiting  —  for  —  patients  ?  '' 

"  For  patients  that  never  come,  and  never  will  come." 

"  Cuwious  !     How  little  I  know  of  life." 

"  It  is  that  all  day,  dear,  or  else  writing." 

Lady  Cicely,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  Staines,  made  a 
motion  with  her  hand  that  she  was  attending. 

"  And  they  won't  publish  a  word  he  writes." 

"  Poor  man  I " 

"  Mce  for  me  ;  is  it  not  ?  " 

"I  begin  to  understand,"  said  Lady  Cicely  quietly; 
and  soon  after  retired  with  her  invariable  composure. 

Meantime,  Dr.  Staines,  like  a  good  husband,  had 
thrown  out  occasional  hints  to  Mrs.  Lucas  that  he  had  a 
wife,  beautiful,  accomplished,  moped.  More  than  that, 
he  went  so  far  as  to  regret  to  her  that  Mrs.  Staines, 
being  in  a  neighborhood  new  to  him,  saw  so  little  so- 
ciety ;  the  more  so,  as  she  was  formed  to  shine,  and  had 
not  been  used  to  seclusion. 

All  these  hints  fell  dead  on  Mrs.  Lucas.  A  handsome 
and  skilful  doctor  was  welcome  to  her :  his  wife  —  that 
was  quite  another  matter. 

But  one  day  ^Nlrs.  Lucas  saw  Lady  Cicely  Treherne's 
carriage  standing  at  the  door.  The  style  of  the  whole 
turnout  impressed  her.     She  wondered  whose  it  was. 


130  A  SOIPLETON. 

On  another  occasion  she  saw  it  drive  up,  and  the  lady 
get  out.  She  recognized  her;  and  the  very  next  day 
this  parvenue  said  adroitly,  "Now,  Dr.  Staines,  really 
you  can't  be  allowed  to  hide  your  wife  in  this  way. 
(Staines  stared.)  Why  not  introduce  her  to  me  next 
Wednesday  ?  It  is  my  night.  I  would  give  a  dinner 
expressly  for  her ;  but  I  don't  like  to  do  that  while  my 
husband  is  in  ISTaples." 

When  Staines  carried  the  invitation  to  his  Avife,  she 
was  delighted,  and  kissed  him  with  childish  frankness. 

But  the  very  next  moment  she  became  thoughtful, 
uneasy,  depressed.     "  Oh,  dear ;  I've  nothing  to  wear." 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Kosa.     Your  wedding  outfit." 

"The  idea!  I  can't  go  as  a  bride.  It's  not  a  mas- 
querade." 

"  But  you  have  other  dresses." 

"  All  gone  by,  more  or  less ;  or  not  fit  for  such  parties 
as  she  gives.     A  hundred  carriages  ! " 

"  Bring  them  down,  and  let  me  see  them." 

"  Oh  yes."  And  the  lady,  who  had  nothing  to  wear, 
paraded  a  very  fair  show  of  dresses. 

Staines  saw  something  to  admire  in  all  of  them.  Mrs. 
Staines  found  more  to  object  to  in  each. 

At  last  he  fell  upon  a  silver-gray  silk,  of  superlative 
quality. 

"  That !     It  is  as  old  as  the  hills,"  shrieked  Eosa. 

"  It  looks  just  out  of  the  shop.  Come,  tell  the  truth  j 
how  often  have  you  worn  it  ?  " 

"  I  wore  it  before  I  was  married." 

"Ay,  but  how  often  ?  " 

"  Twice.     Three  times,  I  believe." 

"  I  thought  so.     It  is  good  as  new." 

"  But  I  have  had  it  so  long  by  me.  I  had  it  two  years 
before  I  made  it  up." 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?     Do  you  think  the  people 


A   SIMPLETON.  131 

can  tell  how  long  a  dress  has  been  lurking  in  your  ward- 
robe ?  This  is  childish,  Rosa.  There,  with  this  dress 
as  good  as  new,  and  your  beauty,  you  will  be  as  much 
admired,  and  perhaps  hated,  as  your  heart  can  desire." 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Rosa  naively.  "Oh,  how  I 
wish  I  had  known  a  week  ago." 

"  I  am  very  tliankful  you  did  not,"  said  Staines  dryly. 

At  ten  o'clock  Mrs.  Staines  was  nearly  dressed ;  at  a 
(Quarter  past  ten  she  demanded  ten  minutes ;  at  half- 
past  ten  she  sought  a  reprieve ;  at  a  quarter  to  eleven, 
being  assured  that  the  street  was  full  of  carriages,  which 
had  -put  down  at  Mrs.  Lucas's,  she  consented  to  emerge  ; 
and  in  a  minute  they  were  at  the  house. 

They  were  shown  first  into  a  cloak-room,  and  then  into 
a  tea-room,  and  then  mounted  the  stairs.  One  servant 
took  their  names,  and  bawled  them  to  another  four  yards 
off,  he  to  another  about  as  near,  and  so  on;  and  they 
edged  themselves  into  the  room,  not  yet  too  crowded  to 
move  in. 

They  had  not  taken  many  steps,  on  the  chance  of  find- 
ing their  hostess,  when  a  slight  buzz  arose,  and  seemed 
to  follow  them. 

Rosa  wondered  what  that  was  ;  but  only  for  a  moment ; 
she  observed  a  tall,  stout,  aquiline  woman  fix  an  eye  of 
bitter,  diabolical,  malignant  hatred  on  her ;  and  as  she  ad- 
vanced, ugly  noses  were  cocked  disdainfully,  and  scraggy 
shoulders  elevated  at  the  risk  of  sending  the  bones 
through  the  leather,  and  a  titter  or  two  shot  after  her. 
A  woman's  instinct  gave  her  the  key  at  once ;  the  sexes 
had  complimented  her  at  sight ;  each  in  their  way ;  the 
men  with  respectful  admiration ;  the  women,  with  their 
inflammable  jealousy  and  ready  hatred  in  another  of  the 
quality  they  value  most  in  themselves.  But  the  country 
girl  was  too  many  for  them  :  she  would  neither  see  nor 
hear,  but  moved  sedately  on,  and  calmly  crushed  them 


132  A   SIMPLETON. 

with  her  Southern  beauty.  Their  dry,  powdered  faces 
couhl  not  live  by  the  side  of  her  glowing  skin,  with 
nature's  delicate  gloss  upon  it,  and  the  rich  blood  man- 
tling below  it.  The  got-up  beauties,  i.e.,  the  majority, 
seemed  literally  to  fade  and  wither  as  she  passed. 

Mrs.  Lucas  got  to  her,  suppressed  a  slight  maternal 
pang,  having  daughters  to  marry,  and  took  her  line  in  a 
moment ;  here  was  a  decoy  duck.  Mrs.  Lucas  was  all 
graciousness,  made  acquaintance,  and  took  a  little  turn 
with  her,  introducing  her  to  one  or  two  persons ;  among 
the  rest,  to  the  malignant  woman,  Mrs.  Barr.  Mrs. 
Barr,  on  this,  ceased  to  look  daggers  and  substituted 
icicles  ;  but  on  the  hateful  beauty  moving  away,  dropped 
the  icicles,  and  resumed  the  poniards. 

The  rooms  filled ;  the  heat  became  oppressive,  and  the 
mixed  odors  of  flowers,  scents,  and  perspiring  humanity, 
sickening.  Some,  unable  to  bear  it,  trickled  out  of  the 
room,  and  sat  all  down  the  stairs. 

Eosa  began  to  feel  faint.  Up  came  a  tall,  sprightly 
girl,  whose  pertness  was  redeemed  by  a  certain  honhomie, 
and  said,  "  Mrs.  Staines,  I  believe  ?  I  am  to  make  my- 
self agreeable  to  you.  That  is  the  order  from  head- 
quarters." 

"  Miss  Lucas,"  said  Staines. 

She  jerked  a  little  off-hand  bow  to  him,  and  said, 
"  Will  you  trust  her  to  me  for  five  minutes  ?  " 

"  Certainly."     But  he  did  not  much  like  it. 

Miss  Lucas  carried  her  off,  and  told  Dr.  Staines,  over 
her  shoulder,  now  he  could  flirt  to  his  heart's  content. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  he  dryly.    "  I'll  await  your  return." 

^'  Oh,  there  are  some  much  greater  flirts  here  than  I 
am,"  said  the  ready  Miss  Lucas ;  and  whispering  some- 
thing in  Mrs.  Staines's  ear,  suddenly  glided  with  her 
behind  a  curtain,  pressed  a  sort  of  button  fixed  to, a 
looking-glass  door.      The  door  opened,  and  behold  they 


A   SIMPLETON.  133 

were  in  a  delicious  place,  for  which  I  can  hardly  find  a 
word,  since  it  was  a  boudoir  and  a  conservatory  in  one  : 
a  large  octagon,  the  walls  lined  from  floor  to  ceiling  with 
looking-glasses  of  moderate  width,  at  intervals,  and  with 
creepers  that  covered  the  intervening  spaces  of  the  wall, 
and  were  trained  so  as  to  break  the  outline  of  the  glasses 
without  greatly  clouding  the  reflection.  Ferns,  in  great 
variety,  were  grouped  in  a  deep  crescent,  and  in  the 
bight  of  this  green  bay  were  a  small  table  and  chairs. 
As  there  were  no  hot-house  plants,  the  temperature  was 
very  cool,  compared  with  the  reeking  oven  they  had 
escaped;  and  a  little  fountain  bubbled,  and  fed  a  little 
meandering  gutter  that  trickled  away  among  the  ferns ; 
it  ran  crystal  clear  over  little  bright  pebbles  and  shells. 
It  did  not  always  run,  you  understand ;  but  Miss  Lucas 
turned  a  secret  tap,  and  started  it. 

"  Oh,  how  heavenly  ! "  said  Rosa,  with  a  sigh  of  relief ; 
"  and  how  good  of  you  to  bring  me  here  ! " 

•^  Yes ;  by  rights  I  ought  to  have  waited  till  you 
fainted.  But  there  is  no  making  acquaintance  among 
all  those  peoi:)le.  Mamma  will  ask  such  crowds ;  one  is 
like  a  fly  in  a  glue-pot.'' 

ISriss  Lucas  had  good  nature,  smartness,  and  animal 
spirits;  hence  arose  a  vivacity  and  fluency  that  were 
often  amusing,  and  passed  for  very  clever.  Reserve  she 
had  none  ;  would  talk  about  strangers,  or  friends,  herself, 
her  mother,  her  God,  and  the  last  buffoon-singer,  in  a 
breath.  At  a  hint  from  Rosa,  she  told  her  who  the  lady 
in  the  pink  dress  was,  and  the  lady  in  the  violet  velvet, 
and  so  on;  for  each  lady  was  defined  by  her  dress,  and, 
more  or  less,  quizzed  by  this  show-woman,  not  exactly 
out  of  malice,  but  because  it  is  smarter  and  more  natural 
to  decry  than  to  praise,  and  a  little  medisance  is  the 
spice  to  gossij),  belongs  to  it,  as  mint  sauce  to  lamb.  So 
they  chatted  away,  and  were  pleased  with  each  other. 


134  A    SIMPLETON. 

and  made  friends,  and  there,  in  cool  grot,  qnite  forgot 
the  sufferings  of  their  fellow-creatures  in  the  adjacent 
Turkish  bath,  yclept  society.  It  was  Rosa  who  first 
recollected  herself.  "Will  not  Mrs.  Lucas  be  angry 
with  me,  if  I  keep  you  all  to  myself  ?  " 

"  Oh  no ;  but  I'm  afraid  we  must  go  into  the  hot-house 
again.  I  like  the  greenhouse  best,  with  such  -a  nice 
companion.'' 

They  slipped  noiselessly  into  the  throng  again,  and 
wriggled  about.  Miss  Lucas  presenting  her  new  friend  to 
several  ladies  and  gentlemen. 

Presently  Staines  found  them,  and  then  Miss  Lucas 
wriggled  away ;  and  in  due  course  the  room  was  thinned 
by  many  guests  driving  off  home,  or  to  balls,  and  other 
receptions,  and  Dr.  Staines  and  Mrs.  Staines  went  home 
to  the  Bijou.  Here  the  physician  prescribed  bed;  but 
the  lady  would  not  hear  of  such  a  thing  until  she  had 
talked  it  all  over.  So  they  compared  notes,  and  Eosa 
told  him  how  well  she  had  got  on  with  Miss  Lucas,  and 
made  a  friendship.  "  But  for  that,"  said  she,  "  I  should 
be  sorry  I  went  among  those  people,  such  a  dowdy." 

"  Dowdy  ! "  said  Staines.  "  Why,  you  stormed  the 
town ;  you  were  the  great  success  of  the  night,  and,  for 
all  I  know,  of  the  season."  The  wretch  delivered  this 
with  unbecoming  indifference. 

"It  is  too  bad  to  mock  me,  Christie.  Where  were 
your  eyes  ?  " 

"To  the  best  of  my  recollection,  they  were  one  on 
each  side  of  my  nose." 

"  Yes,  but  some  people  are  eyes  and  no  eyes." 

"  I  scorn  the  imputation ;  try  me." 

"  Very  well.  Then  did  you  see  that  lady  in  sky-blue 
silk,  embroidered  with  flowers,  and  flounced  with  white 
velvet,  and  the  corsage  point  lace;  and  oh,  such  em- 
eralds ?  " 


A   SIMPLETON.  135 

"I  did;  a  tall,  skinny  woman,  with  eyes  resembling 
her  jewels  in  color,  though  not  in  brightness." 

"  Never  mind  her  eyes ;  it  is  her  dress  I  am  speak- 
ing of.  Exquisite  j  and  what  a  coiffure !  Well,  did 
you  see  her  in  the  black  velvet,  trimmed  so  deep  with 
Chantilly  lace,  wave  on  wave,  and  her  head-dress  of  crim- 
son flowers,  and  such  a  riviere  of  diamonds  ;  oh,  dear !  oh, 
dear!" 

"  I  did,  love.  The  room  was  an  oven,  but  her  rubi- 
cund face  and  suffocating  costume  made  it  seem  a 
furnace." 

"  Stuff !  Well,  did  you  see  the  lady  in  the  corn-colored 
silk,  and  poppies  in  her  hair  ?  " 

"Of  course  I  did.  Ceres  in  person.  She  made  me 
feel  hot,  too;  but  I  cooled  myself  a  bit  at  her  pale, 
sickly  face." 

"  Never  mind  their  faces  ;  that  is  not  the  point." 

"  Oh,  excuse  me  ;  it  is  always  a  point  with  us  benighted 
males,  all  eyes  and  no  eyes." 

"Well,  then,  the  lady  in  white,  with  cherry-velvet 
bands,  and  a  white  tunic  looped  with  crimson,  and  head- 
dress of  white  illusion,  a  la  vierge,  I  think  they  call  it." 

"It  was  very  refreshing;  and  adapted  to  that  awful 
atmosphere.  It  was  the  nearest  approach  to  nudity  I 
ever  saw,  even  amongst  fashionable  people." 

"  It  was  lovely  ;  and  then  that  superb  figure  in  white 
illusion  and  gold,  with  all  those  narrow  flounces  over  her 
slip  of  white  silk  glacee,  and  a  wreath  of  white  flowers, 
with  gold  wheat  ears  amongst  them,  in  her  hair  ;  and  oh  ! 
oh  !  oh  !  her  pearls,  oriental,  and  as  big  as  almonds  ! " 

"And  oh!  oh!  oh!  her  nose!  reddish,  and  as  long  as 
a  woodcock's." 

"Noses!  noses!  stupid!  That  is  not  what  strikes 
you  first  in  a  woman  dressed  like  an  angel." 

"Well,  if  you  were  to  run  up  against  that  one,  as  I 


136  A   SIMPLETON. 

nearly  did,  her  nose  ivould  be  the  thing  that  would  strike 
you  first.  Nose  !  it  was  a  rostrum !  the  spear-head  of 
Goliah." 

"Now,  don't,  Christopher.  This  is  no  laughing  mat- 
ter. Do  you  mean  you  were  not  ashamed  of  your  wife  ? 
I  was." 

"  No,  I  was  not ;  you  had  but  one  rival ;  a  very  young 
lady,  wise  before  her  age  ;  a  blonde,  Avith  violet  eyes. 
She  was  dressed  in  light  mauve-colored  silk,  without  a 
single  flounce,  or  any  other  tomfoolery  to  fritter  away 
the  sheen  and  color  of  an  exquisite  material ;  her  sunny 
hair  was  another  wave  of  color,  wreathed  with  a  thin 
line  of  white  jessamine  flowers  closely  woven,  that 
scented  the  air.  This  girl  was  the  moon  of  that  assem- 
bly, and  you  were  the  sun." 

''  I  never  even  saw  her." 

'•Eyes  and  no  eyes.  She  saw  you,  and  said,  ^Oh, 
what  a  beautiful  creature  ! '  for  I  heard  her.  As  for  the 
ok)  stagers,  whom  you  admire  so,  their  faces  were  all 
clogged  with  powder,  the  pores  stopped  up,  the  true 
texture  of  the  skin  abolished.  They  looked  downright 
nasty,  whenever  you  or  that  young  girl  passed  by  them. 
Then  it  was  you  saw  to  what  a  frightful  extent  women 
are  got  up  in  our  day,  even  young  women,  and  respect- 
able women.  No,  Eosa,  dress  can  do  little  for  you ;  you 
have  beauty  —  real  beauty." 

"  Beauty  !  That  passes  unnoticed,  unless  one  is  well 
dressed." 

"  Then  what  an  obscure  pair  the  Apollo  Belvidere  and 
the  Venus  de  Medicis  must  be." 

"  Oh  !  they  are  dressed  —  in  marble." 

Christopher  Staines  stared  first,  then  smiled. 

"  Well  done,"  said  he,  admiringly.  "  That  is  a  knock- 
down blow.  So  now  you  have  silenced  your  husband, 
go  you  to  bed  directly.     I  can't  afford  you  diamonds  ;  so 


A    SIMPLETON.  137 

I  will  take  care  of  that  little  insignificant  trifle,  your 
beauty." 

Mrs.  Staines  and  i\Irs.  Lucas  exchanged  calls,  and 
soon  Mrs.  Staines  could  no  longer  complain  she  was  out 
of  the  world.  j\Irs.  Lucas  invited  her  to  every  party, 
because  her  beauty  was  an  instrument  of  attraction  she 
knew  how  to  use  ;  and  Miss  Lucas  took  a  downright 
fancy  to  her ;  drove  her  in  the  park,  and  on  Sundays  to 
the  Zoological  Gardens,  just  beginning  to  be  fashionable. 

The  Lucatees  rented  a  box  at  the  opera,  and  if  it  was 
not  let  at  the  library  by  six  o'clock,  and  if  other  engage- 
ments permitted,  word  was  sent  round  to  Mrs.  Staines, 
as  a  matter  of  course,  and  she  was  taken  to  the  opera. 
She  began  almost  to  live  at  the  Lucases,  and  to  be 
oftener  fatigued  than  moped. 

The  usual  order  of  things  was  inverted ;  the  maiden 
lady  educated  the  matron;  for  Miss  Lucas  knew  all 
about  everybody  in  the  Park,  honorable  or  dishonorable ; 
all  the  scandals,  and  all  the  flirtations ;  and  whatever 
she  knew,  she  related  point-blank.  Being  as  inquisitive 
as  voluble,  she  soon  learned  how  ]\[rs.  Staines  and  her 
husband  were  situated.  She  took  upon  her  to  advise  her 
in  many  things,  and  especially  impressed  upon  her  that 
Dr.  Staines  must  keep  a  carriage,  if  he  wanted  to  get  on 
in  medicine.  The  piece  of  advice  accorded  so  well  with 
Eosa's  wishes,  that  she  urged  it  on  her  husband  again 
and  again. 

He  objected  that  no  money  was  coming  in,  and  there- 
fore it  would  be  insane  to  add  to  their  expenses.  Eosa 
persisted,  and  at  last  worried  Staines  with  her  impor- 
tunity. He  began  to  give  rather  short  answers.  Then 
she  quoted  j\Iiss  Lucas  against  him.  He  treated  the 
authority  with  marked  contempt ;  and  then  Rosa  fired 
up  a  little.  Then  Staines  held  his  peace  j  but  did  not 
buy  a  carriage  to  visit  his  no  patients. 


138  A   SIMPLETON. 

So  at  last  Eosa  complained  to  Lady  Cicely  Treherne, 
and  made  lier  the  judge  between  her  husband  and  herself. 
Lady  Cicely  drawled  out  a  prompt  but  polite  refusal  to 
play  that  part.  All  that  could  be  elicited  from  her,  and 
that  with  difficulty,  was,  "  AVhy  quail  with  your  husband 
about  a  cawwige ;  he  is  your  best  fwiend." 

"Ah,  that  he  is,"  said  Eosa;  "but  Miss  Lucas  is  a 
good  friend,  and  she  knows  the  world.  We  don't ;  neither 
Christopher  nor  I." 

So  she  continued  to  nag  at  her  husband  about  it,  and 
to  say  that  he  was  throwing  his  only  chance  away. 

Galled  as  he  was  by  neglect,  this  was  irritating,  and 
at  last  he  could  not  help  •  telling  her  she  was  unreason- 
able. "  You  live  a  gay  life,  and  I  a  sad  one.  I  consent 
to  this,  and  let  you  go  about  with  these  Lucases,  because 
you  were  so  dull ;  but  you  should  not  consult  them  in 
our  private  affairs.  Their  interference  is  indelicate  and 
improper.  I  will  not  set  up  a  carriage  till  I  have 
patients  to  visit.  I  am  sick  of  seeing  our  capital 
dwindle,  and  no  income  created.  I  will  never  set  up  a 
carriage  till  I  have  taken  a  hundred-guinea  fee." 

"  Oh !  Then  we  shall  go  splashing  through  the  mud 
all  our  days." 

"  Or  ride  in  a  cab,"  said  Christopher,  with  a  quiet 
doggedness  that  left  no  hope  of  his  yielding. 

One  afternoon  Miss  Lucas  called  for  Mrs.  Staines  to 
drive  in  the  Park,  but  did  not  come  up-stairs ;  it  was  an 
engagement,  and  she  knew  ]\Irs.  Staines  would  be  ready, 
or  nearly.  Mrs.  Staines,  not  to  keep  her  waiting,  came 
down  rather  hastily,  and  in  the  very  passage  whipped 
out  of  her  pocket  a  little  glass,  and  a  little  powder  puff, 
and  puffed  her  face  all  over  in  a  trice.  She  was  then 
going  out;  but  her  husband  called  her  into  the  study. 
"  Rosa,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "  you  were  going  out  with  a 
dirty  face." 


A   SIMVLETON.  lo\J 

"  Oh  ! "  cried  she,  "give  me  a  glass." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  that.  All  you  want  is  a  basin 
and  some  nice  rain-water.  I  keep  a  little  reservoir 
of  it." 

He  then  handed  her  the  same  with  great  politeness. 
She  looked  in  his  eye,  and  saw  he  was  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  She  complied  like  a  lamb,  and  the  heavenly  color 
and  velvet  gloss  that  resulted  were  admirable. 

He  kissed  her  and  said,  "  Ah  !  now  you  are  my  Rosa 
again.  Oblige  me  by  handing  over  that  powder-puff  to 
me."  She  looked  vexed,  but  complied.  "When  you 
come  back  I  will  tell  you  why." 

"You  are  a  pest,"  said  Mrs.  Staines,  and  so  joined  her 
friend,  rosy  with  rain-water  and  a  rub. 

"  Dear  me,  how  handsome  you  look  to-day  ! "  was  Miss 
Lucas's  first  remark. 

Kosa  never  dreamed  that  rain-Avater  and  rub  could  be 
the  cause  of  her  looking  so  well. 

"  It  is  my  tiresome  husband,"  said  she.  "  He  objects 
to  powder,  and  he  has  taken  away  my  puff." 

"  And  you  stood  that  ?  " 

"Obliged  to." 

"  Why,  you  poor-spirited  little  creature,  I  should  like 
to  see  a  husband  presume  to  interfere  with  me  in  those 
things.     Here,  take  mine." 

Rosa  hesitated  a  little.     "  Well  —  no  —  I  think  not." 

Miss  Lucas  laughed  at  her,  and  quizzed  her  so  on  her 
allowing  a  man  to  interfere  in  such  sacred  things  as 
dress  and  cosmetics,  that  she  came  back  irritated  with 
her  husband,  and  gave  him  a  short  answer  or  two.  Then 
he  asked  what  was  the  matter. 

"You  treat  me  like  a  child  — taking  away  my  very 

puff." 

"  I  treat  you  like  a  beautiful  flower,  that  no  bad  gar- 
dener shall  wither  whilst  I  am  here." 


140  A   SlMrLETON. 

"  What  nonsense  !  How  could  tliat  wither  me  ?  It  is 
only  violet  powder  —  what  they  put  on  babies." 

"  And  who  are  the  Herods  that  put  it  on  babies  ?  " 

"  Their  own  mothers,  that  love  them  ten  times  more 
than  the  fathers  do." 

"  And  kill  a  hundred  of  them  for  one  a  man  ever  kills. 
Mothers  !  —  the  most  wholesale  homicides  in  the  nation. 
We  will  examine  your  violet-powder :  bring  it  down 
here." 

While  she  was  gone  he  sent  for  a  breakfast-cupful  of 
flour,  and  when  she  came  back  he  had  his  scales  out,  and 
begged  her  to  put  a  teaspoonful  of  flour  into  one  scale 
and  of  violet  powder  into  another.  The  flour  kicked  the 
beam,  as  Homer  expresses  himself. 

"  Put  another  spoonful  of  flour." 

The  one  spoonful  of  violet  powder  outweighed  the  two 
of  flour. 

"Now,"  said  Staines,  "does  not  that  show  you  the 
presence  of  a  mineral  in  your  vegetable  powder  ?  I  sup- 
pose they  tell  you  it  is  made  of  white  violets  dried,  and 
triturated  in  a  diamond  mill.  Let  us  find  out  whut 
metal  it  is.  We  need  not  go  very  deep  into  chemistry 
for  that."  He  then  applied  a  simple  test,  and  detected 
the  presence  of  lead  in  large  quantities.  Then  he 
lectured  her :  "  Invisible  perspiration  is  a  process  of 
nature  necessary  to  health  and  to  life.  The  skin  is 
made  porous  for  that  purpose.  You  can  kill  anybody  in 
an  hour  or  two  by  closing  the  pores.  A  certain  infalli- 
ble ass,  called  Pope  Leo  XII.,  killed  a  little  boy  in  two 
hours,  by  gilding  him  to  adorn  the  pageant  of  his  first 
procession  as  Pope.  But  what  is  death  to  the  whole 
body  must  be  injurious  to  a  part.  What  madness,  then, 
to  clog  the  pores  of  so  large  and  important  a  surface  as 
the  face,  and  check  the  invisible  perspiration  :  how  much 
more  to  insert  lead  into  your  system  every  day  of  your 


A    Sr>rPLETON.  141 

life  ;  a  oumulative  poison,  and  one  so  deadly  and  so 
subtle,  that  the  Sheffield  file-cutters  die  in  their  prime, 
from  merely  hammering  on  a  leaden  anvil.  And  what 
do  you  gain  by  this  suicidal  habit  ?  Xo  plum  has  a 
sweeter  bloom  or  more  delicious  texture  than  the  skin 
of  your  young  face ;  but  this  mineral  filth  hides  that 
delicate  texture,  and  substitutes  a  dry,  uniform  appear- 
ance, more  like  a  certain  kind  of  leprosy  than  health. 
Nature  made  your  face  the  rival  of  peaches,  roses,  lilies ; 
and  you  say,  '  No ;  I  know  better  than  my  Creator  and 
my  God ;  my  face  shall  be  like  a  dusty  miller's.'  Go 
into  any  flour-mill,  and  there  you  shall  see  men  with 
faces  exactly  like  your  friend  ]Miss  Lucas's.  But  before 
a  miller  goes  to  his  sweetheart,  he  always  washes  his 
face.  You  ladies  would  never  get  a  miller  down  to  your 
level  in  brains.  It  is  a  miller's  clirtij  face  our  mono- 
maniacs of  woman  imitate,  not  the  face  a  miller  goes' 
a-courting  with." 

"  La !  what  a  fuss  about  nothing !  " 

"  About  nothing  !  Is  your  health  nothing  ?  Is  your 
Ijeauty  nothing  ?  Well,  then,  it  will  cost  3'ou  nothing  to 
promise  me  never  to  put  powder  on  your  face  again." 

"Very  well,  I  promise.  Now  what  will  you  do  for 
me?" 

"  Work  for  you  —  write  for  you  —  suffer  for  3'ou  —  be 
self-denying  for  you  —  and  even  give  myself  the  -pain  of 
disappointing  you  now  and  then  —  looking  forward  to 
the  time  when  I  shall  be  able  to  say  'Yes '  to  everything 
you  ask  me.  Ah  !  child,  you  little  kno"w  what  it  costs 
me  to  say  *  No '  to  you,^^ 

Rosa  put  her  arms  round  him  and  acquiesced.  She  was 
one  of  those  who  go  with  the  last  speaker ;  but,  for  that 
very  reason,  the  eternal  companionship  of  so  flighty  and 
flirty  a  girl  as  Miss  Lucas  was  injurious  to  her. 

One  day  Lady  Cicely  Treherne  was  sitting  with  Mrs. 


142  A   SIMPLETON. 

Staines,  smiling  languidly  at  lier  talk,  and  occasionally 
drawling  out  a  little  plain  good  sense,  when  in  came  Miss 
Lucas,  with  her  tongue  well  hung,  as  usual,  and  dashed 
into  twenty  topics  in  ten  minutes. 

This  young  lady  in  her  discourse  was  like  those  little 
oily  beetles  you  see  in  small  ponds,  whose  whole  life  is 
spent  in  tacking  —  confound  them  for  it !  —  generally  at 
right  angles.  What  they  are  in  navigation  was  Miss 
Lucas  in  conversation :  tacked  so  eternally  from  topic  to 
topic,  that  no  man  on  earth,  and  not  every  woman,  could 
follow  her. 

At  the  sight  and  sound  of  her,  Lady  Cicely  congealed 
and  stiffened.  Easy  and  unpretending  with  Mrs.  Staines, 
she  was  all  dignity,  and  even  majesty,  in  the  presence 
of  this  chatterbox ;  and  the  smoothness  with  which  the 
transfiguration  was  accomplished  marked  that  accom- 
plished actress  the  high-bred  woman  of  the  world. 

Rosa,  better  able  to  estimate  the  change  of  manner 
than  Miss  Lucas  was,  who  did  not  know  how  little  this 
Sawny  was  afflicted  with  misplaced  dignity,  looked  wist- 
fully and  distressed  at  her.  Lady  Cicely  smiled  kindly 
in  rejily,  rose,  without  seeming  to  hurry,  —  catch  her 
condescending  to  be  rude  to  Charlotte  Lucas,  —  and  took 
her  departure,  with  a  profound  and  most  gracious  courtesy 
to  the  lady  who  had  driven  her  away. 

Mrs.  Staines  saw  her  down-stairs,  and  said,  ruefully, 
"  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  like  my  friend  Miss  Lucas.  She 
is  a  great  rattle,  but  so  good-natured  and  clever.'^ 

Lady  Cicely  shook  her  head.  "Clevaa  people  don't 
talk  so  much  nonsense  before  strangaas." 

"  Oh,  dear  ! "  said  Rosa.  "  I  was  in  hopes  you  would 
like  her." 

"  Do  yo2i  like  her  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  do ;  but  I  shall  not,  if  she  drives  an  older 
friend  away." 


A   SIMPLETON.  143 

"My  dyali,  I'm  not  easily  dwiven  from  tliose  I  esteem. 
But  you  undastaiid  that  is  not  a  woman  for  me  to  mis- 
pwonowuce  my  'all's  befaw  —  nor  for  you  to  make  a 
iJosoM  FwiEXD  OF  —  W(^SA  Staixp:s." 

She  said  this  with  a  sudden  maternal  solemnity  and 
kindness  that  contrasted  nobly  and  strangely  with  her 
yea-nay  style,  and  Mrs.  Staines  remembered  the  words 
years  after  they  were  spoken. 

It  so  hax^pened  that  after  this  Mrs.  Staines  received  no 
more  visits  from  Lady  Cicely  for  some  time,  and  that 
vexed  her.  She  knew  her  sex  enough  to  be  aware  that 
they  are  very  jealous,  and  she  permitted  herself  to 
think  that  this  high-minded  Sawny  was  jealous  of  Miss 
Lucas. 

This  idea,  founded  on  a  general  estimate  of  her  sex, 
was  dispelled  by  a  few  lines  from  Lady  Cicely,  to  say 
her  family  and  herself  were  in  deep  distress  j  her  brother, 
Lord  Ayscough,  lay  dying  from  an  accident. 

Then  Rosa  was  all  remorse,  and  ran  down  to  Staines 
to  tell  him.  She  found  him  with  an  open  letter  in  his 
hand.  It  was  from  Dr.  Barr,  and  on  the  same  subject. 
The  doctor,  who  had  always  been  friendly  to  him,  invited 
him  to  come  down  at  once  to  Hallowtree  Hall,  in  Hunt- 
ingdonshire, to  a  consultation.  There  was  a  friendly 
intimation  to  start  at  once,  as  the  patient  might  die  any 
moment. 

Husband  and  wife  embraced  each  other  in  a  tumult  of 
surprised  thankfulness.  A  few  necessaries  were  thrown 
into  a  carpet-bag,  and  Dr.  Staines  was  soon  whirled  into 
Huntingdonshire.  Having  telegraphed  beforehand,  he 
was  met  at  the  station  by  the  earl's  carriage  and  people, 
and  driven  to  the  Hall.  He  was  received  by  an  old, 
silver-haired  butler,  looking  very  sad,  who  conducted  him 
to  a  boudoir ;  and  then  went  and  tapped  gently  at  the 
door  of  the  patient's  room.     It  was  opened  and  shut  very 


144  A   SIMPLETON. 

softly,  and  Lady  Cicely,  dressed  in  black,  and  looking 
paler  than  ever,  came  into  the  room. 

"Dr.  Staines,  I  think?" 

He  bowed. 

"Thank  you  for  coming  so  prom^otly.  Dr.  Barr  is 
irone.  I  fear  he  thinks  —  he  thinks  —  0  Dr.  Staines  — 
no  sign  of  life  but  in  his  poor  hands,  that  keep  moving 
night  and  day." 

Staines  looked  very  grave  at  that.  Lady  Cicely  ob- 
served it,  and,  faint  at  heart,  could  say  no  more,  but  led 
the  way  to  the  sick-room. 

There  in  a  spacious  chamber,  lighted  by  a  grand  oriel 
window  and  two  side  windows,  lay  rank,  title,  wealth, 
and  youth,  stricken  down  in  a  moment  by  a  common 
accident.  The  sufferer's  face  was  bloodless,  his  eyes 
fixed,  and  no  signs  of  life  but  in  his  thumbs,  and  they 
kept  w^orking  with  strange  regularity. 

In  the  room  w^ere  a  nurse  and  the  surgeon ;  the  neigh- 
boring physician,  who  had  called  in  Dr.  Barr,  had  just 
paid  his  visit  and  gone  away. 

Lady  Cicely  introduced  Dr.  Staines  and  Mr.  White,  and 
tlien  Dr.  Staines  stood  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  patient 
in  profound  silence.  Lady  Cicely  scanned  his  counte- 
nance searchingly,  and  was  struck  with  the  extraordinary 
power  and  intensity  it  assumed  in  examining  the  patient; 
but  the  result  was  not  encouraging.  Dr.  Staines  looked 
grave  and  gloomy. 

At  last,  without  removing  his  eye  from  the  recumbent 
figure,  he  said  quietly  to  Mr.  White,  "  Thrown  from  his 
horse,  sir." 

"  Horse  fell  on  him,  Dr.  Staines." 

"Any"  visible  injuries  ?  " 

"Yes.  Severe  contusions,  and  a  rib  broken  and  pressed 
upon  the  lungs.  I  replaced  and  set  it.  Will  you 
see  ?  " 


A   SII^irLETON.  145 

"  If  you  please." 

He  examined  and  felt  the  patient,  and  said  it  had  been 
ably  done. 

Then  he  was  silent  and  searching. 

At  last  he  spoke  again.  "  The  motion  of  the  thumbs 
corresponds  exactly  with  his  pulse." 

<as  that  so,  sir?" 

"It  is.  The  case  is  without  a  parallel.  How  long 
has  he  been  so  ?  " 

"  Nearly  a  week." 

"  Impossible ! " 

"  It  is  so,  sir." 

Lady  Cicely  confirmed  this. 

"All  the  better,"  said  Dr.  Staines  upon  reflection. 
"Well,  sir,"  said  he,  "the  visible  injuries  having  been 
ably  relieved,  I  shall  look  another  way  for  the  cause." 
Then,  after  another  pause,  "I  must  have  his  head 
shaved." 

Lady  Cicely  demurred  a  little  to  this ;  but  Dr.  Staines 
stood  firm,  and  his  lordship's  valet  undertook  the  job. 

Staines  directed  him  where  to  begin ;  and  when  he 
had  made  a  circular  tonsure  on  the  top  of  the  head,  had 
it  sponged  with  tepid  water. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  he.  "Here  is  the  mischief;" 
and  he  pointed  to  a  very  slight  indentation  on  the  left 
side  of  the  pia  mater.  "  Observe,"  said  he,  "  there  is  no 
corresponding  indentation  on  the  other  side.  Under- 
neath this  trifling  depression  a  minute  piece  of  bone  is 
doubtless  pressing  on  the  most  sensitive  part  of  the 
brain.     He  must  be  trex^hined." 

Mr.  White's  eyes  sparkled.- 

"  You  are  an  hospital  surgeon,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Dr.  Staines.     I  have  no  fear  of  the  operation." 

"  Then  I  hand  the  patient  over  to  you.  The  case  at 
present  is  entirely  surgical." 


146  A  SIMPLETON. 

White  was  driven  home,  and  soon  returned  with  the 
requisite  instruments.  The  operation  was  neatly  per- 
formed,  and  then  Lady  Cicely  was  called  in.  She  came 
trembling ;  her  brother's  fingers  were  still  working,  but 
not  so  regularly. 

"That  is  only  habit^^  said  Staines;  "it  will  soon  leave 
off,  now  the  cause  is  gone." 

And,  truly  enough,  in  about  five  minutes  the  fingers 
became  quiet.  The  eyes  became  human  next;  and 
within  half  an  hour  after  the  operation  the  earl  gave  a 
little  sigh. 

Lady  Cicely  clasped  her  hands,  and  uttered  a  little 
cry  of  delight. 

"This  will  not  do,"  said  Staines,  "I  shall  have  you 
screaming  when  he  speaks." 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Staines  !  will  he  ever  speak  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,  and  very  soon.     So  be  on  your  guard." 

This  strange  scene  reached  its  climax  soon  after,  by 
the  earl  saying,  quietly,  — 

"  Are  her  knees  broke,  Tom  ?  " 

Lady  Cicely  uttered  a  little  scream,  but  instantly  sup- 
pressed it. 

"No,  my  lord,"  said  Staines,  smartly;  "only  rubbed  a 
bit.  You  can  go  to  sleep,  my  lord.  I'll  take  care  of  the 
mare." 

"All  right,"  said  his  lordship;  and  composed  himself 
to  slumber. 

Dr.  Staines,  at  the  earnest  request  of  Lady  Cicely, 
stayed  all  night;  and  in  course  of  the  day  advised  her 
how  to  nurse  the  patient,  since  both  physician  and  sur- 
geon had  done  with  him. 

He  said  the  patient's  brain  might  be  irritable  for  some 
days,  and  no  women  in  silk  dresses  or  crinoline,  or  creak- 
ing shoes,  must  enter  the  room.  He  told  her  the  nurse 
was  evidently  a  clumsy  woman,  and  Avould  be  letting 


A    SIMPLETON.  147 

tilings  fall.  She  had  better  get  some  (Tld  soldier  used  to 
nursing.  ^' And  don't  whisper  in  the  room,"  said  hu ; 
"  nothing  irritates  them  worse ;  and  don't  let  anybody 
play  a  piano  within  hearing ;  but  in  a  day  or  two  you 
may  try  him  with  slow  and  continuous  music  on  the 
flute  or  violin  if  you  like.  Don't  touch  his  bed  sud- 
denly ;  don't  sit  on  it  or  lean  on  it.  Dole  sunlight  into 
his  room  by  degrees ;  and  when  he  can  bear  it,  drench 
him  with  it.  Never  mind  what  the  old  school  tell  you. 
About  these  things  they  know  a  good  deal  less  than 
nothing." 

Lady  Cicely  received  all  this  like  an  oracle. 

The  cure  w\as  telegraphed  to  Dr.  Barr,  and  he  was 
requested  to  settle  the  fee.  He  w^as  not  the  man  to 
undersell  the  profession,  and  was  jealous  of  nobody, 
having  a  large  practice,  and  a  very  wealthy  wife.  So  he 
telegraphed  back  —  "  Fifty  guineas,  and  a  guinea  a  mile 
from  London." 

So,  as  Christopher  Staines  sat  at  an  early  breakfast, 
Avith  the  carriage  waiting  to  take  him  to  the  train,  two 
notes  were  brought  him  on  a  salver. 

They  were  both  directed  by  Lady  Cicely  Treherne. 
One  of  them  contained  a  few  kind  and  feeling  Avords  of 
gratitude  and  esteem ;  the  other,  a  check,  drawn  by  the 
earl's  steward,  for  one  hundred  and  thirty  guineas. 

He  bowled  up  to  London,  and  told  it  all  to  E,osa.  She 
sparkled  with  pride,  affection,  and  joy. 

"■  Now,  w^ho  says  you  are  not  a  genius  ?  "  she  cried. 
"  A  hundred  and  thirty  guineas  for  one  fee !  Now,  if 
you  love  your  w^if e  as  she  loves  you  —  you  will  set  up  a 
brougham." 


148  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

Doctor  Staines  begged  leave  to  distinguisli ;  he  had 
not  said  he  would  set  up  a  carriage  at  the  first  one 
hundred  guinea  fee,  but  only  that  he  would  not  set  up 
one  before.  There  are  misguided  people  who  would  call 
this  logic  :  but  Kosa  said  it  was  equivocating,  and  urged 
him  so  warmly  that  at  last  he  burst  out,  "  Who  can  go 
on  forever  saying  ^  No/  to  the  only  creature  he  loves  ?  " 
—  and  caved.  In  forty-eight  hours  more  a  brougham 
waited  at  Mrs.  Staines's  door.  The  servant  engaged  to 
drive  it  was  Andrew  Pearman,  a  bachelor,  and,  hitherto, 
an  under-groom.  He  readily  consented  to  be  coachman, 
and  to  do  certain  domestic  work  as  well.  So  Mrs.  Staines 
had  a  man-servant  as  well  as  a  carriage. 

Ere  long,  three  or  four  patients  called,  or  wrote,  one 
after  the  other.  These  Kosa  set  down  to  brougham,  and 
crowed;  she  even  crowed  to  Lady  Cicely  Treherne,  to 
whose  influence,  and  not  to  brougham's,  every  one  of 
these  patients  was  owing.  Lady  Cicely  kissed  her,  and 
demurely  enjoyed  the  poor  soul's  self-satisfaction. 

Staines  himself,  while  he  drove  to  or  from  these 
patients,  felt  more  sanguine,  and  buoyed  as  he  was  by 
the  consciousness  of  ability,  began  to  hope  he  had  turned 
the  corner. 

He  sent  an  account  of  Lord  Ayscough's  case  to  a 
medical  magazine :  and  so  full  is  the  world  of  flunkey- 
ism,  that  this  article,  though  he  withheld  the  name, 
retaining  only  the  title,  got  the  literary  wedge  in  for 
him  at  once :  and  in  due  course  he  became  a  paid  con- 
tributor to  two  medical  organs,  and  used  to  study  and 


A   SIMPLETON.  140 

write  more,  and  indent  tlie  little  stone  yard  less  than 
lieretofore. 

It  was  about  this  time  circumstances  made  him 
acquainted  with  Phoebe  Dale.  Her  intermediate  history 
1  will  dispose  of  in  fewer  words  than  it  deserves.  Her 
ruin,  Mr.  Reginald  Falcon,  was  dismissed  from  his  club, 
for  marking  high  cards  on  the  back  with  his  nail.  This 
stopped  his  remaining  resource  —  borrowing :  so  he  got 
more  and  more  out  at  elbows,  till  at  last  he  came  down 
to  hanging  about  billiard-rooms,  and  making  a  little 
money  by  concealing  his  game ;  from  that,  hoAvever,  he 
rose  to  be  a  marker. 

Having  culminated  to  that,  he  wrote  and  proposed 
marriage  to  Miss  Dale,  in  a  charming  letter :  she  showed 
it  to  her  father  with  pride. 

Now,  if  his  vanity,  his  disloyalty,  his  falsehood,  his 
ingratitude,  and  his  other  virtues  had  not  stood  in  the 
way,  he  would  have  done  this  three  years  ago,  and  been 
jumped  at. 

But  the  offer  came  too  late;  not  for  Phoebe  —  she 
would  have  taken  him  in  a  moment  —  but  for  her  friends. 
A  baited  hook  is  one  thing,  a  bare  hook  is  another. 
Farmer  Dale  had  long  discovered  where  Phoebe's  money 
went :  he  said  not  a  word  to  her ;  but  went  up  to  town 
like  a  shot ;  found  Falcon  out,  and  told  him  he  mustn't 
think  to  eat  his  daughter's  bread.  She  should  marry  a 
man  that  could  make  a  decent  livelihood;  and  if  she 
was  to  run  away  with  him,  why  they'd  starve  together. 
The  farmer  was  resolute,  and  spoke  very  loud,  like  one 
that  expects  opposition,  and  comes  prepared  to  quarrel. 
Instead  of  that,  this  artful  rogue  addressed  him  with' 
deep  respect  and  an  affected  veneration,  that  quite  puz- 
zled the  old  man ;  acquiesced  in  every  word,  expressed 
contrition  for  his  past  misdeeds,  and  told  the  farmer  he 
had  quite  determined  to  labor  with  his  hands.     ''You 


150  A   SIMPLETON. 

know,  farmer/'  said  he,  "  I  am  not  the  only  gentleman 
who  has  come  to  that  in  the  present  day.  Now,  all  my 
friends  that  have  seen  my  sketches,  assure  me  I  am  a 
born  painter ;  and  a  painter  I'll  be  —  for  love  of  Phoebe." 

The  farmer  made  a  wry  face.  "Painter!  that  is  a 
sorry  sort  of  a  trade." 

"  You  are  mistaken.  It's  the  best  trade  going.  There 
are  gentlemen  making  their  thousands  a  year  by  it." 

"  Not  in  our  parts,  there  bain't.  Stop  a  bit.  What  be 
ye  going  to  paint,  sir  ?     Housen,  or  folk  ?  " 

"  Oh,  hang  it,  not  houses.     Figures,  landscapes." 

"  Well,  ye  might  just  make  shift  to  live  at  it,  I  sup- 
pose, with  here  and  there  a  signboard.  They  are  the 
best  paid,  our  way  :  but,  Lord  bless  ye,  they  wants  head- 
piece. Well,  sir,  let  me  see  your  work.  Then  we'll  talk 
further." 

"  I'll  go  to  work  this  afternoon,"  said  Falcon  eagerly ; 
then  with  affected  surprise,  "  Bless  me ;  I  forgot.  I 
have  no  x^^l^tte,  no  canvas,  no  colors.  You  couldn't 
lend  me  a  couple  of  sovereigns  to  buy  them,  could  you  ?  " 

"Ay,  sir;  I  could.  But  I  woan't.  I'll  lend  ye  the 
things,  though,  if  you  have  a  mind  to  go  with  me  and 
buy  'em." 

Falcon  agreed,  with  a  lofty  smile ;  and  the  purchases 
were  made. 

Mr.  Falcon  painted  a  landscape  or  two  out  of  his 
imagination.  The  dealers  to  whom  he  took  them  de- 
clined them ;  one  advised  the  gentleman  painter  to  color 
tea-boards.     "  That's  your  line,"  said  he. 

"The  world  has  no  taste,"  said  the  gentleman  painter: 
"  but  it  has  got  lots  of  vanity :  I'll  paint  portraits." 

He  did ;  and  formidable  ones :  his  portraits  were 
amazingly  like  the  people,  and  yet  unlike  men  and 
women,  especially  about  the  face.  One  thing,  he  didn't 
trouble  with  lights  and  shades,  but  went  slap  at  the 
features. 


A   SIMPLETON.  151 

His  brush  would  never  liave  kept  liini ;  but  he  carried 
an  instrument,  in  the  use  of  which  he  was  really  an 
artist,  viz.,  his  tongue.  By  wheedling  and  underselling 
—  for  he  only  charged  a  pound  for  the  painted  canvas  — 
he  contrived  to  live ;  then  he  aspired  to  dress  as  well  as 
live.  With  this  second  object  in  view,  he  hit  upon  a 
characteristic  expedient. 

He  used  to  prowl  about,  and  when  he  saw  a  young 
woman  sweeping  the  afternoon  streets  with  a  long  silk 
train,  and,  in  short,  dressed  to  ride  in  the  park,  yet 
parading  the  streets,  he  would  take  his  hat  off  to  her, 
with  an  air  of  i:>rofound  respect,  and  ask  permission  to 
take  her  portrait.  Generally  he  met  a  prompt  rebuff; 
but  if  the  fair  was  so  unlucky  as  to  hesitate  a  single 
moment,  he  told  her  a  melting  tale  ;  he  had  once  driven 
his  four-in-hand;  but  by  indorsing  his  friends'  bills, 
was  reduced  to  painting  likeness,  admirable  likenesses 
in  oil,  only  a  guinea  each. 

His  piteous  tale  provoked  more  gibes  than  pity,  but  as 
he  had  no  shame,  the  rebuffs  went  for  nothing :  he  actu- 
ally did  get  a  few  sitters  by  his  audacity:  and  some  of 
the  sitters  actually  took  the  pictures,  and  paid  for  them ; 
others  declined  them  with  fury  as  soon  as  they  were 
finished.  These  he  took  back  with  a  piteous  sigh,  that 
sometimes  extracted  half  a  crown.  Then  he  painted 
over  the  rejected  one  and  let  it  dry  ;  so  that  sometimes 
a  paid  portrait  would  present  a  beauty  enthroned  on  the 
debris  of  two  or  three  rivals,  and  that  is  where  few 
beauties  would  object  to  sit. 

All  this  time  he  wrote  nice  letters  to  Phoebe,  and 
adopted  the  tone  of  the  struggling  artist,  and  the  true 
lover,  who  wins  his  bride  by  patience,  perseverance,  and 
indomitable  industry  ;  a  babbled  of  "  Self  Help." 

Meantime,  Phoebe  was  not  idle :  an  excellent  business 
woman,  she  took  immediate  advantage  of  a  new  station 


152  A   SIMPLETON. 

that  was  built  near  the  farm,  to  send  up  milk,  butter, 
and  eggs  to  London.  Being  genuine,  they  sold  like  wild- 
fire. Observing  that,  she  extended  her  operations,  by 
buying  of  other  farmers,  and  forwarding  to  London: 
and  then,  having  of  course  an  eye  to  her  struggling 
artist,  she  told  her  father  she  must  have  a  shop  in 
London,  and  somebody  in  it  she  could  depend  upon. 

"  With  all  my  heart,  wench,"  said  he ;  "  but  it  must 
not  be  thou.     I  can't  spare  thee." 

"  May  I  have  Dick,  father  ?  " 

"  Dick  !  he  is  rather  young." 

"But  he  is  very  quick,  father,  and  minds  every  word 
I  tell  him." 

"Ay,  he  is  as  fond  of  thee  as  ever  a  cow  was  of  a 
calf.     Well,  you  can  try  him." 

So  the  love-sick  woman  of  business  set  up  a  little 
shop,  and  put  her  brother  Dick  in  it,  and  all  to  see  more 
of  her  struggling  artist.  She  stayed  several  days,  to 
open  the  little  shop,  and  start  the  business.  She  adver- 
tised pure  milk,  and  challenged  scientific  analysis  of 
everything  she  sold.  This  came  of  her  being  a  reader ; 
she  knew,  by  the  journals,  that  we  live  in  a  sinful  and 
adulterating  generation,  and  anything  pure  must  be  a 
godsend  to  the  poor  poisoned  public. 

Now,  Dr.  Staines,  though  known  to  the  profession  as 
a  diagnost,  was  also  an  analyst,  and  this  challenge 
brought  him  down  on  Phoebe  Dale.  He  told  her  he  was 
a  physician,  and  in  search  of  pure  food  for  his  own 
family  — would  she  really  submit  the  milk  to  analysis  ? 

Phoebe  smiled  an  honest  country  smile,  and  said, 
"Surely,  sir."  She  gave  him  every  facility,  and  he 
applied  those  simple  tests  which  are  commonly  used  in 
France,  though  hardly  known  in  England. 

He  found  it  perfectly  pure,  and  told  her  so ;  and  gazed 
at  l*hoebe  for  a  moment,  as  a  phenomenon. 


A   SIISrPLETON.  153 

She  smiled  again  at  that,  her  broad  country  smile. 
"  That  is  a  wonder  in  London,  I  dare  say.  It's  my 
belief  half  the  children  that  die  here  are  perished  with 
watered  milk.  Well,  sir,  we  shan't  have  that  on  our 
souls,  father  and  I ;  he  is  a  farmer  in  Essex.  This 
comes  a  many  miles,  this  milk." 

Staines  looked  in  her  face,  with  kindly  approval 
marked  on  his  own  eloquent  features.  She  blushed  a 
little  at  so  fixed  a  regard.  Then  he  asked  her  if  she 
would  supply  him  with  milk,  butter,  and  eggs. 

"\\Tiy,  if  you  mean  sell  you  them,  yes,  sir,  with 
pleasure.  But  for  sending  them  home  to  you  in  this  big 
town,  as  some  do,  I  can't ;  for  there's  only  brother  Dick 
and  me  :  it  is  an  experiment  like." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Staines  :  "  I  will  send  for  them." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  sir.  I  hope  you  won't  be  offended, 
sir ;  but  we  only  sell  for  ready  money." 

"  All  the  better :  my  order  at  home  is,  no  bills." 

When  he  was  gone,  Phoebe,  assuming  vast  experience, 
though  this  was  only  her  third  day,  told  Dick  that  was 
one  of  the  right  sort:  "and  oh,  Dick,"  said  she,  "did 
you  notice  his  eye  ?  " 

"  Not  particklar,  sister." 

"  There  noAv ;  the  boy  is  blind.  "Why,  'twas  like  a 
jewel.  Such  an  eye  I  never  saw  in  a  man's  head,  nor 
a  woman's  neither." 

Staines  told  his  wife  about  Phoebe  and  her  brother, 
and  spoke  of  her  with  a  certain  admiration  that  raised 
Kosa's  curiosity,  and  even  that  sort  of  vague  jealousy 
that  fires  at  bare  praise.  "I  should  like  to  see  this  phe- 
nomenon,'' said  she.  "You  shall,"  said  he.  "I  have  to 
call  on  Mrs.  Manly.  She  lives  near.  I  will  drop  you  at 
the  little  shop,  and  come  back  for  you." 

He  did  so,  and  that  gave  llosa  a  quarter  of  an  hour 
to  make  her  purchases.     When  he  came  back  he  found 


154  A   SIMPLETON. 

her  conversing  with  Phoebe,  as  if  they  were  old  friends, 
and  Dick  glaring  at  his  wife  with  awe  and  admiration. 
He  could  hardly  get  her  away. 

She  was  far  more  extravagant  in  her  praises  than 
Dr.  Staines  had  been.  "What  a  good  creature!"  said 
she.  "  And  how  clever !  To  think  of  her  setting  up  a 
shop  like  that  all  by  herself;  for  her  Dick  is  only 
seventeen." 

Dr.  Staines  recommended  the  little  shop  wherever 
he  Avent,  and  even  extended  its  operations.  He  asked 
Phoebe  to  get  her  own  wheat  ground  at  home,  and  send 
the  flour  up  in  bushel  bags.  "These  assassins,  the 
bakers,"  said  he,  "  are  putting  copper  into  the  flour  now, 
as  well  as  alum.  Pure  flour  is  worth  a  fancy  price  to 
any  family.  With  that  we  can  make  the  bread  of  life. 
What  you  buy  in  the  shops  is  the  bread  of  death." 

Dick  was  a  good,  sharp  boy,  devoted  to  his  sister.  He 
stuck  to  the  shop  in  London,  and  handed  the  money  to 
Phoebe,  when  she  came  for  it.  She  worked  for  it  in 
Essex,  and  extended  her  country  connection  for  supply 
as  the  retail  business  increased. 

Staines  wrote  an  article  on  pure  food,  and  incidentally 
mentioned  the  shop  as  a  place  where  flour,  milk,  and 
butter  were  to  be  had  pure.  This  article  was  published 
in  the  Lancet.,  and  caused  quite  a  run  upon  the  little 
shop.  By  and  by  Phoebe  enlarged  it,  for  which  there 
were  great  capabilities,  and  made  herself  a  pretty  little 
parlor,  and  there  she  and  Dick  sat  to  Falcon  for  tlieir 
portraits;  here,  too,  she  hung  his  rejected  landscapes. 
They  were  fair  in  her  eyes  ;  what  matter  whether  they 
were  like  nature  ?  his  hand  had  painted  them.  She 
knew,  from  him,  that  everybody  else  had  rejected  them. 
W^ith  all  the  more  pride  and  love  did  she  have  them 
framed  in  gold,  and  hung  up  with  the  portraits  in  her 
little  sanctum. 


A     SIMPLETON.  155 

For  a  few  montlis  Phoebe  Dale  was  as  happy  as  she 
deserved  to  be.  Her  lover  was  working,  and  faithful  to 
her  —  at  least  she  saw  no  reason  to  doubt  it.  He  came 
to  see  her  every  evening,  and  seemed  devoted  to  her : 
would  sit  quietly  with  her,  or  walk  with  her,  or  take  her 
to  a  play,  or  a  music-hall  —  at  her  expense. 

She  now  lived  in  a  quiet  elysium,  with  a  bright  and 
rapturous  dream  of  the  future  ;  for  she  saw  she  had  hit 
on  a  good  vein  of  business,  and  should  soon  be  inde- 
pendent, and  able  to  indulge  herself  with  a  husband,  and 
ask  no  man's  leave. 

She  sent  to  Essex  for  a  dairymaid,  and  set  her  to  churn 
milk  into  butter,  coram  j^ojmlo,  at  a  certain  hour  every 
morning.  This  made  a  new  sensation.  At  other  times 
the  woman  was  employed  to  deliver  milk  and  cream  to 
a  few  favored  customers. 

Mrs.  Staines  dropped  in  now  and  then,  and  chatted 
with  her.  Her  sweet  face  and  her  naivete  won  Phoebe's 
heart ;  and  one  day,  as  happiness  is  apt  to  be  communi- 
cative, she  let  out  to  her,  in  reply  to  a  feeler  or  two 
as  to  whether  she  was  quite  alone,  that  she  was  engaged 
to  be  married  to  a  gentleman.  "But  he  is  not  rich, 
ma'am,"  said  Phoebe  plaintively  ;  "  he  has  had  trouble  : 
obliged  to  work  for  his  living,  like  me ;  he  painted  these 
pictures,  every  one  of  them.  If  it  was  not  making  too 
free,  and  you  could  spare  a  guinea  —  he  charges  no  more 
for  the  picture,  only  you  must  go  to  the  expense  of  the 
frame." 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  said  Eosa  warmly.  "  I'll  sit  for  it 
here,  any  day  you  like." 

Now,  Kosa  said  this,  out  of  her  ever  ready  kindness, 
not  to  wound  Phoebe  :  but  having  made  the  promise,  she 
kept  clear  of  the  place  for  some  days,  hoping  Phoebe 
would  forget  all  about  it.  Meantime  she  sent  her 
husband  to  buy. 


156  A   SIMPLETON. 

In  about  a  fortniglit  slie  called  again,  primed  with 
evasions  if  she  should  be  asked  to  sit ;  but  nothing  of 
the  kind  was  proposed.  Phoebe  was  dealing  when  she 
went  in.  The  customers  disposed  of,  she  said  to  Mrs. 
Staines,  "  Oh,  ma'am,  I  am  glad  you  are  come.  I  have 
something  I  should  like  to  show  you."  She  took  her 
into  the  parlor,  and  made  her  sit  down :  then  she  opened 
a  drawer,  and  took  out  a  very  small  substance  that  looked 
like  a  tear  of  ground  glass,  and  put  it  on  the  table  before 
her.  "  There,  ma'am,"  said  she,  "  that  is  all  he  has  had 
for  painting  a  friend's  pioture." 

"Oh!  what  a  shame." 

"  His  friend  was  going  abroad  —  to  Natal ;  to  his  uncle 
that  farms  out  there,  and  does  very  well ;  it  is  a  first-rate 
part,  if  you  take  out  a  little  stock  with  you,  and  some 
money ;  so  my  one  gave  him  credit,  and  Avhen  the  letter 
came  with  that  postmark,  he  counted  on  a  five-pound 
note ;  but  the  letter  only  said  he  had  got  no  money  yet, 
but  sent  him  something  as  a  keepsake :  and  there  was 
this  little  stone.  Poor  fellow  !  he  flung  it  down  in  a 
passion ;  he  was  so  disappointed." 

Phoebe's  great  gray  eyes  filled ;  and  Eosa  gave  a  little 
coo  of  sympathy  that  was  very  womanly  and  lovable. 

Phoebe  leaned  her  cheek  on  her  hand,  and  said  thought- 
fully, "  I  picked  it  up,  and  brought  it  away ;  for,  after 
all  —  don't  you  think,  ma'am,  it  is  very  strange  that  a 
friend  should  send  it  all  that  way,  if  it  was  worth  nothing 
at  all  ?  " 

"  It  is  impossible.     He  could  not  be  so  heartless." 

"  And  do  you  know,  ma'am,  when  I  take  it  up  in 
my  fingers,  it  doesn't  feel  like  a  thing  that  was  worth 
nothing." 

"  No  more  it  does :  it  makes  my  fingers  tremble.  May 
I  take  it  home,  and  show  it  my  husband  ?  he  is  a  great 
physician  and  knows  everything." 


A    SIMPLETON.  ir>7 

"I  am  sure  I  should  bo  obliged  to  you,  ma'am." 

Rosa  drove  home,  on  purpose  to  show  it  to  Christopher. 
She  ran  into  his  study :  "  Oh,  Christopher,  please  look  at 
that.  You  know  that  good  creature  we  have  our  flour 
and  milk  and  things  of.  She  is  is  engaged,  and  he  is  a 
painter.  Oh,  such  daubs  !  He  painted  a  friend,  and  the 
friend  sent  that  home  all  the  way  from  Natal,  and  he 
dashed  it  down,  and  she  picked  it  up,  and  what  is  it  ? 
ground  glass,  or  a  pebble,  or  what  ?  " 

"  Humph  !  —  by  its  shape,  and  the  great  —  brilliancy 
—  and  refraction  of  light,  on  this  angle,  where  the  stone 
has  got  polished  by  rubbing  against  other  stones,  in  the 
course  of  ages,  I'm  inclined  to  think  it  is  —  a  diamond." 

"  A  diamond  !  "  shrieked  Rosa.  "  Xo  wonder  my 
fingers  trembled.  Oh,  can  it  be  ?  Oh,  you  good,  cold- 
blooded Christie! — Poor  things!  —  Come  along.  Dia- 
mond !     Oh  you  beauty  !     Oh  you  duck  !  " 

"  Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry.  I  only  said  I  thought  it 
was  a  diamond.  Let  me  weigh  it  against  water,  and 
then  I  shall  know.''' 

He  took  it  to  his  little  laboratory,  and  returned  in  a 
few  minutes,  and  said,  "Yes.  It  is  just  three  times 
and  a  half  heavier  than  water.     It  is  a  diamond." 

"  Are  you  positive  ?  " 

"  I'll  stake  my  existence." 

"^\^at  is  it  worth?" 

"My  dear,  I'm  not  a  jeweller :  but  it  is  very  large  and 
pear-shaped,  and  I  see  no  flaw :  I  don't  think  you  could 
buy  it  for  less  than  three  hundred  pounds." 

"  Three  hundred  pounds  1  It  is  worth  three  hundred 
pounds." 

"Or  sell  it  for  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds." 

"  A  hundred  and  fifty !  It  is  worth  a  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds." 


158  A   STINIPLETON. 

"Why,  my  clear,  one  would  think  you  head  invented 
'  the  dicamond/  Show  me  how  to  crystallize  carbon,  and 
I  will  share  your  enthusiasm." 

"Oh,  I  leave  you  to  carbonize  crystal.  I  prefer  to 
gladden  hearts :  and  I  will  do  it  this  minute,  with  my 
diamond." 

"  Do,  dear ;  and  I  will  take  that  opportunity  to  finish 
my  article  on  Adulteration." 

Kosa  drove  off  to  Phoebe  Dale. 

Now  Phoebe  was  drinking  tea  with  Eeginald  Palcqn, 
in  her  little  parlor.  "  Who  is  that,  I  Avonder  ?  "  said 
she,  when  the  carriage  drew  up. 

Reginald  drew  back  a  corner  of  the  gauze  curtain 
which  had  been  drawn  across  the  little  glass  door  leading 
from  the  shop. 

"  It  is  a  lady,  and  a  beautiful  —  Oh  !  let  me  get  out." 
And  he  rushed  out  at  the  door  leading  to  the  kitchen, 
not  to  be  recognized. 

This  set  Phoebe  all  in  a  flutter,  and  the  next  moment 
Mrs.  Staines  tapped  at  the  little  door,  then  opened  it, 
and  peeped.     "  Good  news  !  may  I  come  in  ?  " 

"  Surely,"  said  Phoebe,  still  troubled  and  confused  by 
Eeginald's  strange  agitation. 

"  There  !  It  is  a  diamond  !  "  screamed  Eosa.  "  My 
husband  knew  it  directly.  He  knows  everything.  If 
ever  you  are  ill,  go  to  him  and  nobody  else  —  by  the 
refraction,  and  the  angle,  and  its  being  three  times  and 
a  half  as  heavy  as  water.  It  is  worth  three  hundred 
pounds  to  buy,  and  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  to 
selL" 

"  Oh  ! " 

"  So  don't  you  go  throwing  it  away,  as  he  did.  (In  a 
whisper.)  Two  teacups?  Was  that  him?  I  have 
driven  him  away.  I  am  so  sorry.  I'll  go;  and  then 
you  can  tell  him.     Poor  fellow  !  " 


A  SIMPLETON.  159 

^^Oli,  ma'am,  don't  go  yet,"  said  Phcebe,  trembling. 
"  I  haven't  half  thanked  you." 

"  Oh,  bother  thanks.     Kiss  me  ;  that  is  the  way." 

"May  I?" 

"You  may,  and  must.  There — and  there — and 
there.  Oh  dear,  what  nice  things  good  luck  and  happi- 
ness are,  and  how  sweet  to  bring  them  for  once." 

Upon  this  Phoebe  and  she  had  a  nice  little  cry  together, 
and  ]\[rs.  Staines  went  off  refreshed  thereby,  and  as  gay 
as  a  lark,  pointing  slyly  at  the  door,  and  making  faces 
to  Phoebe  that  she  knew  he  was  there,  and  she  only 
retired,  out  of  her  admirable  discretion,  that  they  might 
enjoy  the  diamond  together. 

When  she  was  gone,  Reginald,  whose  eye  and  ear  had 
be(Mi  at  the  keyhole,  alternately  gloating  on  the  face  and 
drinking  the  accents  of  the  only  woman  he  had  ever 
really  loved,  came  out,  looking  pale,  and  strangely 
disturbed  ;  and  sat  down  at  table,  without  a  word. 

Phcebe  came  back  to  him,  full  of  the  diamond.  "  Did 
you  hear  what  she  said,  my  dear  ?  It  is  a  diamond ;  it 
is  worth  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  at  least.  Why, 
what  ails  you  ?     Ah  !  to  be  sure  !  you  know  that  lady." 

"  I  have  cause  to  know  her.     Cursed  jilt ! " 

"  You  seem  a  good  deal  put  out  at  the  sight  of  her." 

"  It  took  me  by  surprise,  that  is  all." 

"It  takes  me  by  surprise  too.  I  thought  you  were 
cured.     I  thought  my  turn  had  come  at  last." 

Heginald  met  this  in  sullen  silence.  Then  Phoebe  was 
sorry  she  had  said  it ;  for,  after  all,  it  wasn't  the  man's 
fault  if  an  old  sweetheart  had  run  into  the  room,  and 
given  him  a  start.  So  she  made  him  some  fresh  tea,  and 
pressed  him  kindly  to  try  her  home-made  bread  and 
butter. 

My  lord  relaxed  his  frown  and  consented,  and  of  course 
they  talked  diamond. 


160  A   SIMPLETON. 

He  told  her,  loftily,  he  must  take  a  studio,  and  his 
sitters  must  come  to  him,  and  must  no  longer  expect  to 
be  immortalized  for  one  pound.  It  must  be  two  pounds 
for  a  bust,  and  three  pounds  for  a  kitcat. 

"  Nay,  but,  my  dear,"  said  Phoebe,  "  they  will  pay  no 
more  because  you  have  a  diamond." 

"Then  they  will  have  to  go  unpainted,"  said  Mr. 
Falcon. 

This  was  intended  for  a  threat.  Phoebe  instinctively 
felt  that  it  might  not  be  so  received ;  she  counselled 
moderation.  "  It  is  a  great  thing  to  have  earned  a  dia- 
mond," said  she  :  "but  'tis  only  once  in  a  life.  Now,  be 
ruled  by  me  :  go  on  just  as  you  are.  Sell  the  diamond, 
and  give  me  the  money  to  keep  for  you.  Why,  you 
might  add  a  little  to  it,  and  so  would  I,  till  we  made  it 
up  two  hundred  pounds.  And  if  you  could  only  show 
two  hundred  pounds  you  had  made  and  laid  by,  father 
would  let  us  marry,  and  I  might  keep  this  shop  —  it  pays 
well,  I  can  tell  you  —  and  keep  my  gentleman  in  a  sly 
corner ;  you  need  never  be  seen  in  it." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  he,  "  that  is  the  small  game.  But  I 
am  a  man  that  have  always  preferred  the  big  game.  I 
shall  set  up  my  studio,  and  make  enough  to  keep  us  both. 
So  give  me  the  stone,  if  you  please.  I  shall  take  it 
round  to  them  all,  and  the  rogues  won't  get  it  out  of  me 
for  a  hundred  and  fifty ;  why,  it  is  as  big  as  a  nut." 

"  No,  no,  Reginald.  Money  has  always  made  mischief 
between  you  and  me.  You  never  had  fifty  pounds  yet, 
you  didn't  fall  into  temptation.  Do  pray  let  me  keep 
it  for  you  ;  or  else  sell  it  —  I  know  how  to  sell ;  nobody 
better  — and  keep  the  money  for  a  good  occasion." 

"  Is  it  yours,  or  mine  ?  "  said  he,  sulkily. 

"  Why  yours,  dear  ;  you  earned  it." 

"  Then  give  it  me,  please."  And  he  almost  forced  it 
out  of  her  hand. 


A   SIMPLETON.  161 

So  now  she  sat  clown  and  crii'd  over  this  piece  of  good 
hick,  for  her  heart  filled  with  forebodings. 

He  laughed  at  her,  but  at  last  had  the  grace  to  console  her, 
and  assure  her  she  was  tornientini'  herself  for  nothincr. 

•'  Time  will  show,"  said  she,  sadly. 

Time  did  show. 

Three  or  four  days  he  came,  as  usual,  to  laugh  her  out 
of  her  forebodings.  But  presently  his  visits  ceased.  She 
knew  what  that  meant :  he  was  living  like  a  gentleman, 
melting  his  diamond,  and  playing  her  false  with  the  first 
pretty  face  he  met. 

This  blow,  coming  after  she  had  been  so  happy,  struck 
Phabe  Dale  stupid  with  grief.  The  line  on  her  high 
forehead  deepened ;  and  at  night  she  sat  with  her  hands 
before  her,  sighing,  and  sighing,  and  listening  for  the 
footsteps  that  never  came. 

"  Oh,  Dick  !  "  she  said,  "  never  you  love  any  one.  I 
am  aweary  of  my  life.  And  to  think  that,  but  for  that 
diamond  —  oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  " 

Then  Dick  used  to  try  and  comfort  her  in  his  way, 
and  often  put  his  arm  round  her  neck,  and  gave  her  his 
rough  but  honest  sympathy.  Dick's  rare  affection  was 
her  one  drop  of  comfort ;  it  was  something  to  relieve  her 
swelling  heart. 

"  Oh,  Dick !  "  she  said  to  him  one  night,  "  I  wish  I 
had  married  him." 

"What,  to  be  ill-used ? " 

"  He  couldn't  use  me  worse.  I  have  been  wife,  and 
mother,  and  sweetheart,  and  all,  to  him ;  and  to  be  left 
like  this.     He  treats  me  like  the  dirt  beneath  his  feet," 

""Tis  your  own  fault,  Phoebe,  partly.  You  say  the 
word,  and  Pll  break  every  bone  in  his  carcass." 

"  What,  do  him  a  mischief !  Why,  I'd  rather  die  than 
harm  a  hair  of  his  head.  You  must  never  lift  a  hand  to 
him,  or  I  shall  hate  you." 


162  A  SIMPLETON. 

"Hate  me,  Phoebe?" 

"  Ay,  boy :  I  should.  God  forgive  me :  'tis  no  use 
deceiving  ourselves  ;  when  a  woman  loves  a  man  she 
despises,  never  you  come  between  them ;  there's  no 
reason  in  her  love,  so  it  is  incurable.  One  comfort,  it 
can't  go  on  forever ;  it  must  kill  me,  before  my  time  ; 
and  so  best.  If  I  was  only  a  mother,  and  had  a  little 
Reginald  to  dandle  on  my  knee  and  gloat  upon,  till  he 
spent  his  money,  and  came  back  to  me.  That's  why  I 
said  I  wished  I  was  his  wife.  Oh  !  why  does  God  fill  a 
poor  woman's  bosom  with  love,  and  nothing  to  spend  it 
on  but  a  stone ;  for  sure  his  heart  must  be  one.  If  I  had 
only  something  that  would  let  me  always  love  it,  a  little 
toddling  thing  at  my  knee,  that  would  always  let  me 
look  at  it,  and  love  it,  something  too  young  to  be  false 
to  me,  too  weak  to  run  away  from  my  long — ing  —  arms 
—  and  —  year — ning  heart ! "  Then  came  a  burst  of 
agony,  and  moans  of  desolation,  till  poor  puzzled  Dick 
blubbered  loudly  at  her  grief ;  and  then  her  tears  flowed 
in  streams. 

Trouble  on  trouble.  Dick  himself  got  strangely  out 
of  sorts,  and  complained  of  shivers.  Phoebe  sent  him  to 
bed  early,  and  made  him  some  white  wine  whey  very  hot. 
In  the  morning  he  got  up,  and  said  he  was  better ;  but 
after  breakfast  he  was  violently  sick,  and  suffered  several 
returns  of  nausea  before  noon.  "  One  would  think  I 
was  poisoned,"  said  he. 

At  one  o'clock  he  was  seized  with  a  kind  of  spasm 
in  the  throat  that  lasted  so  long  it  nearly  choked  him. 

Then  Phoebe  got  frightened,  and  sent  to  the  nearest 
surgeon.  He  did  not  hurry,  and  poor  Dick  had  another 
frightful  spasm  just  as  he  came  in. 

"  It  is  hysterical,"  said  the  surgeon.  "  No  disease  of 
the  heart,  is  there  ?  Give  him  a  little  sal-volatile  every 
half  hour," 


A   SIMPLETON.  1G3 

In  spite  of  the  sal-volutile  these  terrible  spasms  seized 
him  every  half  hour ;  and  now  he  used  to  spring  oft"  the 
bed  with  a  cry  of  tenor  when  they  came ;  and  each  one 
left  him  weaker  and  weaker  j  he  had  to  be  carried  back 
by  the  women. 

A  sad,  sickening  fear  seized  on  Phoebe.  She  left  Dick 
with  the  maid,  and  tying  on  her  bonnet  in  a  moment, 
rushed  wildly  down  the  street,  asking  the  neighbors  for 
a  great  doctor,  the  best  that  could  be  had  for  money.  One 
sent  her  east  a  mile,  another  west,  and  she  was  almost 
distracted,  when  who  should  drive  up  but  Dr.  and  Mrs. 
Staines,  to  make-purchases.  She  did  not  know  his  name, 
but  she  knew  he  was  a  doctor.  She  ran  to  the  window, 
and  cried,  "  Oh,  doctor,  my  brother !  Oh,  pray  come  to 
him.     Oh!  oh  I" 

Dr.  Staines  got  quickly,  but  calmly,  out ;  told  his  wife 
to  wait ;  and  followed  Phoebe  up-stairs.  She  told  him  in 
a  few  agitated  words  how  Dick  ha<l  been  taken,  and  all 
the  symptoms  ;  especially  what  had  alarmed  her  so,  his 
springing  off  the  bed  when  the  spasm  came. 

Dr.  Staines  told  her  to  hold  the  patient  up.  He  lost 
not  a  moment,  but  opened  his  mouth  resolutely,  and 
looked  down. 

"  The  glottis  is  swollen,"  said  he :  then  he  felt  his 
hands,  and  said,  with  the  grave,  terrible  calm  of  expe- 
rience, "He  is  dying." 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  I     Oh,  doctor,  save  him  !  save  him  ! " 

"  Nothing  can  save  him,  unless  we  had  a  surgeon  on 
the  spot.  Yes,  I  might  save  him,  if  you  have  the  cour- 
age :  opening  his  windpipe  before  the  next  spasm  is  his 
one  chance." 

"  Open  his  windpipe  !  Oh,  doctor !  It  will  kill  him. 
Let  me  look  at  you." 

She  looked  hard  in  his  face.     It  gave  her  confidence. 

"  Is  it  the  only  chance  ?  " 


164  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  The  only  one  :  and  it  is  flying  while  we  chatter." 

"Do    IT." 

"  He  whipped  out  his  lancet. 

"  But  I  can't  look  on  it.  I  trust  to  you  and  my 
Saviour's  mercy." 

She  fell  on  her  knees,  and  bowed  her  head  in  prayer. 

Staines  seized  a  basin,  put  it  by  the  bedside,  made  an 
incision  in  the  windpipe,  and  got  Dick  down  on  his 
stomach,  with  his  face  over  the  bedside.  Some  blood 
ran,  but  not  much.  "  Now ! "  he  cried,  cheerfully,  "  a 
small  bellows  !     There's  one  in  your  parlor.     Run." 

Phoebe  ran  for  it,  and  at  Dr.  Staines'  direction  lifted 
Dick  a  little,  while  the  bellows,  duly  cleansed,  were 
gently  applied  to  the  aperture  in  the  windpipe,  and  the 
action  of  the  lungs  delicately  aided  by  this  primitive  but 
effectual  means. 

He  showed  Phoebe  how  to  do  it,  tore  a  leaf  out  of  his 
pocket-book,  wrote  a  hasty  direction  to  an  able  surgeon 
near,  and  sent  his  wife  off  with  it  in  the  carriage. 

Phoebe  and  he  never  left  the  patient  till  the  surgeon 
came  with  all  the  instruments  required ;  amongst  the 
rest,  with  a  big,  tortuous  pair  of  nippers,  with  which  he 
could  reach  the  glottis,  and  snip  it.  But  they  con- 
sulted, and  thought  it  wiser  to  continue  the  surer 
method ;  and  so  a  little  tube  was  neatly  inserted  into 
Dick's  windpipe,  and  his  throat  bandaged ;  and  by  this 
aperture  he  did  his  breathing  for  some  little  time. 

Phoebe  nursed  him  like  a  mother ;  and  the  terror  and 
the  joy  did  her  good,  and  made  her  less  desolate. 

Dick  was  only  just  well  when  both  of  them  were  sum- 
moned to  the  farm,  and  arrived  only  just  in  time  to 
receive  their  father's  blessing  and  his  last  sigh. 

Their  elder  brother,  a  married  man,  inherited  the  farm, 
and  was  executor.  Phoebe  and  Dick  were  left  fifteen 
hundred  pounds  apiece,  on  condition  of  their  leaving 
England  and  going  to  Natal. 


A   SOIPLETON.  1G5 

Tliey  knew  directly  Avliat  that  meant.  Plioebe  was  to 
be  parted  from  a  bad  man,  and  Dick  was  to  comfort  her 
for  the  loss. 

When  this  part  of  the  will  was  read  to  Phoebe,  slie 
turned  faint,  and  only  her  health  and  bodily  vigor  kept 
her  from  swooning  right  away. 

But  she  yielded.  "It  is  the  will  of  the  dead,"  said 
she,  "  and  I  will  obey  it ;  for,  oh,  if  I  had  but  listened  to 
him  more  when  he  was  alive  to  advise  me,  I  should  not 
sit  here  now,  sick  at  heart  and  dry-eyed,  when  I  ought 
to  be  thinking  only  of  the  good  friend  that  is  gone." 

When  she  had  come  to  this  she  became  feverishly 
anxious  to  be  gone.  She  busied  herself  in  purchasing 
agricultural  machines,  and  stores,  and  even  stock ;  and 
to  see  her  pinching  the  beasts'  ribs  to  find  their  con- 
dition, and  parrying  all  attempts  to  cheat  her,  you  would 
never  have  believed  she  could  be  a  love-sick  woman. 

Dick  kept  her  up  to  the  mark.  He  only  left  her  to 
bargain  with  the  master  of  a  good  vessel ;  for  it  was  no 
trifle  to  take  out  horses  and  cows,  and  machines,  and 
bales  of  cloth,  cotton,  and  linen. 

When  that  was  settled  they  came  in  to  town  together, 
and  Phoebe  bought  shrewdly,  at  wholesale  houses  in  the 
city,  for  cash,  and  would  have  bargains :  and  the  little 
shop  in Street  was  turned  into  a  warehouse. 

They  were  all  ardor,  as  colonists  should  be  ;  and  what 
pleased  Dick  most,  she  never  mentioned  Falcon ;  yet  he 
learned  from  the  maid  that  worthy  had  been  there  twice, 
looking  very  seedy. 

The  day  drew  near.     Dick  was  in  high  spirits. 

"  We  shall  soon  make  our  fortune  out  there,"  he  said ; 
"  and  I'll  get  you  a  good  husband." 

She  shuddered,  but  said  nothing. 

The  evening  before  they  were  to  sail,  Phoebe  sat  alone, 
in  her  black  dress,  tired  with  work,  and  asking  herself. 


166  A   SIMPLETON, 

sick  at  heart,  could  she  ever  really  leave  England,  when 
the  door  opened  softly,  and  Reginald  Falcon,  shabbily 
dressed,  came  in,  and  threw  himself  into  a  chair. 

She  started  up  with  a  scream,  then  sank  down  again, 
trembling,  and  turned  her  face  to  the  wall. 

"  So  you  are  going  to  run  away  from  me ! "  said  he 
savagely. 

"  Ay,  Reginald,"  said  she  meekly. 

"  This  is  your  fine  love,  is  it  ?  " 

"  You  have  worn  it  out,  dear,"  she  said  softly,  without 
turning  her  head  from  the  wall. 

"  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much ;  but,  curse  it,  every  time 
I  leave  you  I  learn  to  love  you  more.  I  am  never  really 
happy  but  when  I  am  with  you." 

"  Bless  you  for  saying  that,  dear.  I  often  thought  you 
7nust  find  that  out  one  day ;  but  you  took  too  long." 

"  Oh,  better  late  than  never.  Phoebe  !  Can  you  have 
the  heart  to  go  to  the  Cape,  and  leave  me  all  alone  in 
the  world,  with  nobody  that  really  cares  for  me  ?  Surely 
you  are  not  obliged  to  go." 

"  Yes ;  my  father  left  Dick  and  me  fifteen  hundred 
pounds  apiece  to  go  :  that  was  the  condition.  Poor  Dick 
loves  his  unhappy  sister.  He  won't  go  without  me  —  I 
should  be  his  ruin  —  poor  Dick,  that  really  loves  me ; 
and  he  lay  a-dying  here,  and  the  good  doctor  and  me  — 
God  bless  him  —  we  brought  him  back  from  the  grave. 
All,  you  little  know  what  I  have  gone  through.  You 
were  not  here.  Catch  you  being  near  me  when  I  am  in 
trouble.  There,  I  must  go.  I  must  go.  I  will  go ;  if  I 
fling  mj^self  into  the  sea  half  way." 

"  And,  if  you  do,  I'll  take  a  dose  of  poison ;  for  I  have 
thrown  away  the  truest  heart,  the  sweetest,  most  unself- 
ish, kindest,  generous  —  oh !  oh  !  oh ! " 

And  he  began  to  howl. 

This  set  Phoebe  sobbing.     "  Don't  cry,  dear,"  she  mur- 


A  SIMPLETON.  167 

mured  through  her  tears ;  "  if  you  have  really  auy  love 
for  me,  come  with  me." 

"  What,  leave  England,  and  go  to  a  desert  ?  " 

"  Love  can  make  a  desert  a  garden." 

"  Phoebe,  I'll  do  anything  else.  I'll  swear  not  to  leave 
your  side.  I'll  never  look  at  any  other  face  but  yours. 
But  I  can't  live  in  Africa." 

"I  know  you  can't.  It  takes  a  little  real  love  to  go 
there  with  a  poor  girl  like  me.  Ah,  well,  I'd  have  made 
you  so  happy.  We  are  not  poor  emigrants.  I  have  a 
horse  for  you  to  ride,  and  guns  to  shoot;  and  me  and 
Dick  would  do  all  the  work  for  you.  But  there  are 
others  here  you  can't  leave  for  me.  Well,  then,  good-by, 
dear.  In  Africa,  or  here,  I  shall  always  love  you ;  and 
many  a  salt  tear  I  shall  shed  for  you  yet,  many  a  one  I 
have,  as  well  you  know.  God  bless  you.  Pray  for  poor 
Phoebe,  that  goes  against  her  will  to  Africa,  and  leaves 
her  heart  with  thee." 

This  was  too  much  even  for  the  selfish  Reginald.  He 
kneeled  at  her  knees,  and  took  her  hand,  and  kissed  it, 
and  actually  shed  a  tear  or  two  over  it. 

She  could  not  speak.  He  had  no  hope  of  changing 
her  resolution ;  and  presently  he  heard  Dick's  voice  out- 
side, so  he  got  up  to  avoid  him.  "  I'll  come  again  in  the 
morning,  before  you  go." 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !  "  she  gasped.  "  Unless  you  want  me  to 
die  at  your  feet.     I  am  almost  dead  now." 

Reginald  slipped  out  by  the  kitchen. 

Dick  came  in,  and  found  his  sister  leaning  with  her 
head  back  against  the  wall.  "Why,  Phoebe,"  said  he, 
"whatever  is  the  matter?"  and  he  took  her  by  the 
shoulder. 

She  moaned,  and  he  felt  her  all  limp  and  powerless. 

"  What  is  it,  lass  ?  Whatever  is  the  matter  ?  Is  it 
about  going  away  ?  " 


168  A   SIMPLETON. 

She  would  not  speak  for  a  long  time. 

When  she  did  speak,  it  was  to  say  something  for 
which  my  male  reader  may  not  be  prepared.  But  it  will 
not  surprise  the  women. 

"  0  Dick  —  forgive  me  ! " 

"Why,  what  for?" 

"  Forgive  me,  or  else  kill  me :  I  don't  care  which." 

"I  do,  though.  There,  I  forgive  you.  Now  what's 
your  crime  ?  " 

"  I  can't  go.     Forgive  me ! " 

"Can't  go?" 

"  I  can't.     Forgive  me  !  " 

"  I'm  blessed  if  I  don't  believe  that  vagabond  has  been 
here  tormenting  of  you  again." 

"  Oh,  don't  miscall  him.  He  is  penitent.  Yes,  Dick, 
he  has  been  here  crying  to  me  —  and  I  can't  leave  him. 
I  can't  —  I  can't.  Dear  Dick  !  you  are  young  and  stout- 
hearted ;  take  all  the  things  over,  and  make  your  fortune 
out  there,  and  leave  your  poor  foolish  sister  behind.  I 
should  only  fling  myself  into  the  salt  sea  if  I  left  him 
now,  and  that  would  be  peace  to  me,  but  a  grief  to 
thee." 

"  Lordsake,  Phoebe,  don't  talk  so.  I  can't  go  without 
you.  And  do  but  think,  why,  the  horses  are  on  board  by 
now,  and  all  the  gear.  It's  my  belief  a  good  hiding  is  all 
you  want,  to  bring  you  to  your  senses ;  but  I  han't  the 
heart  to  give  you  one,  worse  luck.  Blessed  if  I  know 
what  to  say  or  do." 

"  I  won't  go ! "  cried  Phoebe,  turning  violent  all  of  a 
sudden.  "  No,  not  if  I  am  dragged  to  the  ship  by  the 
hair  of  my  head.  Forgive  me ! "  And  with  that  word 
she  was  a  mouse  again. 

"  Eh,  but  women  are  kittle  cattle  to  drive,"  said  poor 
Dick  ruefully.  And  down  he  sat  at  a  nonplus,  and  very 
unhappy. 


A   SIMPLETON.  100 

Phoebe  sat  opposite,  sullen,  heart-sick,  wretched  to  the 
core ;  but  determined  not  to  leave  Eeginald. 

Then  came  an  event  that  might  have  been  foreseen, 
yet  it  took  them  both  by  surprise. 

A  light  step  was  heard,  and  a  graceful,  though  seedy, 
figure  entered  the  room  with  a  set  speech  in  his  mouth  : 
"Phoebe,  you  are  right.  I  owe  it  to  your  long  and  faith- 
ful affection  to  make  a  sacrifice  for  you.  I  will  go  to 
Africa  with  you.  I  will  go  to  the  end  of  the  world, 
sooner  than  you  shall  say  I  care  for  any  woman  on  earth 
but  you." 

Both  brother  and  sister  were  so  unprepared  for  this, 
that  they  could  hardly  realize  it  at  first. 

Phoebe  turned  her  great,  inquiring  eyes  on  the  speaker, 
and  it  was  a  sight  to  see  amazement,  doubt,  hope,  and 
happiness  animating  her  features,  one  after  another. 
"  Is  this  real  ?  "  said  she. 

"  I  will  sail  with  you  to-morrow,  Phoebe ;  and  I  will 
make  you  a  good  husband,  if  you  will  have  me." 

"That  is  spoke  like  a  man,"  said  Dick.  "You  take 
him  at  his  word,  Phoebe  ;  and  if  he  ill-uses  you  out  there, 
I'll  break  every  bone  in  his  skin." 

"  How  dare  you  threaten  him  ?  "  said  Phoebe.  "  You 
had  best  leave  the  room." 

Out  went  poor  Dick,  with  the  tear  in  his  eye  at  being 
snubbed  so.  AMiile  he  was  putting  up  the  shutters, 
Phoebe  was  making  love  to  her  pseudo  penitent.  "  My 
dear,"  said  she,  "  trust  yourself  to  me.  You  don't  know 
all  my  love  yet ;  for  I  have  never  been  your  wife,  and  I 
would  not  be  your  jade ;  that  is  the  only  thing  I  ever 
refused  you.  Trust  yourself  to  me.  Why,  you  never 
found  happiness  with  others ;  try  it  with  me.  It  shall 
be  the  best  day's  work  you  ever  did,  going  out  in  the 
ship  with  me.  You  don't  know  how  happy  a  loving  wife 
can  make  her  husband.     I'll  pet  you  out  there  as  man 


170  •        A   SIMPLETON. 

was  nerer  petted.  And  besides,  it  isn't  for  life;  Dick 
and  me  will  soon  make  a  fortune  out  there,  and  tlien  I'll 
bring  you  home,  and  see  you  spend  it  any  way  you  like 
but  one.  Oh,  how  I  love  you  !  do  you  love  me  a  little  ? 
I  worship  the  ground  you  walk  on.  I  adore  every  hair 
of  your  head  ! "  Her  noble  arm  went  round  his  neck  in 
a  moment,  and  the  grandeur  of  her  passion  electrified 
him  so  far  that  he  kissed  her  affectionately,  if  not  quite 
so  warmly  as  she  did  him :  and  so  it  was  all  settled. 
The  maid  was  discharged  that  night  instead  of  the  morn- 
ing, and  Eeginald  was  to  occupy  her  bed.  Phoebe  went 
up-stairs  with  her  heart  literally  on  fire,  to  prepare  his 
sleeping-room,  and  so  Dick  and  Eeginald  had  a  word. 

"  I  say,  Dick,  how  long  will  this  voyage  be  ?  " 

^'  Two  months,  sir,  I  am  told." 

"  Please  to  cast  your  eyes  on  this  suit  of  mine.  Don't 
you  think  it  is  rather  seedy  —  to  go  to  Africa  with? 
Why,  I  shall  disgrace  you  on  board  the  ship.  I  say, 
Dick,  lend  me  three  sovs.,  just  to  buy  a  new  suit  at  the 
slop-shop." 

"Well,  brother-in-law,"  said  Dick,  "I  don't  see  any 
harm  in  that.     I'll  go  and  fetch  them  for  you." 

What  does  this  sensible  Dick  do  but  go  up-stairs  to 
Phoebe,  and  say,  "  He  wants  three  pounds  to  buy  a  suit ; 
am  I  to  lend  it  him  ?  " 

Phoebe  was  shaking  and  patting  her  penitent's  pillow. 
She  dropped  it  on  the  bed  in  dismay.  "  Oh,  Dick,  not 
for  all  the  world !  Why,  if  he  had  three  sovereigns,  he'd 
desert  me  at  the  water's  edge.  Oh,  God  help  me,  how  I 
love  him  !  God  forgive  me,  how  I  mistrust  him !  Good 
Dick !  kind  Dick !  say  we  have  suits  of  clothes,  and 
we'll  fit  him  like  a  prince,  as  he  ought  to  be,  on  board 
ship ;  but  not  a  shilling  of  money  :  and,  my  dear,  don't 
put  the  weight  on  vie.     You  understand  ?  " 

"  Ay,  mistress,  I  understand." 


A   SIMPLETON.  171 

"Good  Dick!" 

"Oh,  all  right!  and  then  don't  you  snap  this  here 
good,  kind  Dick's  nose  off  at  a  word  again." 

"  Never.  I  get  wild  if  anybody  threatens  him.  Then 
I'm  not  myself.  Forgive  my  hasty  tongue.  You  know 
I  love  you,  dear  !  " 

"  Oh,  ay  !  you  love  me  well  enough.  But  seems  to  me 
your  love  is  precious  like  cold'  veal,  and  your  love  for 
that  chap  is  hot  roast  beef." 

«Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha!" 

"  Oh,  ye  can  laugh  now,  can  ye  ?  " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

"Well,  the  more  of  that  music,  the  better  for  me." 

"  Yes,  dear ;  but  go  and  tell  him." 

Dick  went  down,  and  said,  "I've  got  no  money  to 
spare,  till  I  get  to  the  Cape ;  but  Phoebe  has  got  a  box 
full  of  suits,  and  I  made  her  promise  to  keep  it  out. 
She  will  dress  you  like  a  prince,  you  may  be  sure." 

"Oh,  that  is  it,  is  it  ?  "  said  Reginald  dryly. 

Dick  made  no  reply. 

At  nine  o'clock  they  were  on  board  the  vessel ;  at  ten 
she  weighed  anchor,  and  a  steam-vessel  drew  her  down 
the  river  about  thirty  miles,  then  cast  off,  and  left  her  to 
the  south-easterly  breeze.  Up  went  sail  after  sail ;  she 
nodded  her  lofty  head,  and  glided  away  for  Africa. 

Phoebe  shed  a  few  natural  tears  at  leaving  the  shores 
of  Old  England ;  but  they  soon  dried.  She  was  demurely 
happy,  watching  her  prize,  and  asking  herself  had  she 
really  secured  it,  and  all  in  a  few  hours  ? 

They  had  a  i^rosperous  voyage  :  were  married  at  Cape 
Town,  and  went  up  the  country,  bag  and  baggage,  look- 
ing out  for  a  good  bargain  in  land.  Eeginald  was  mounted 
on  an  English  horse,  and  allowed  to  zigzag  about,  and 
shoot,  and  play,  while  his  wife  and  brother-in-law  marched 
slowly  with  their  cavalcade. 


172  A   SIMrLETON. 

AVliat  with  air,  exercise,  wliolesome  food,  and  smiles 
of  welcome,  and  delicions  petting,  tins  egotist  enjoyed 
himself  finely.  He  admitted  as  much.  Says  he,  one 
evening  to  his  wife,  who  sat  by  him  for  the  pleasure  of 
seeing  him  feed,  "  It  sounds  absurd ;  but  I  never  Avas  so 
happy  in  all  my  life." 

At  that,  the  celestial  expression  of  her  pastoral  face, 
and  the  maternal  gesture  'with  which  she  drew  her  pet's 
head  to  her  queenly  bosom,  was  a  picture  for  celibacy  to 
gnash  the  teeth  at. 


A   SIMPLETON.  17^ 


CHAPTER   IX. 

During  this  period,  the  most  remarkable  things  that 
happened  to  Dr.  and  ]Mrs.  Staines  were  really  those  which 
I  have  related  as  connecting  them  with  Phcebe  Dale  and 
her  brother ;  to  which  I  will  now  add  that  Dr.  Staines 
detailed  Dick's  case  in  a  remarkable  paper,  entitled 
"  CEdema  of  the  Glottis,"  and  showed  how  the  patient 
had  been  brought  back  from  the  grave  by  tracheotomy 
and  artificial  respiration.  He  received  a  high  price  for 
this  article. 

To  tell  the  truth,  he  was  careful  not  to  admit  that  it 
was  he  who  had  opened  the  windpipe  ;  so  the  credit  of 
the  whole  operation  was  given  to  Mr.  Jenkyn ;  and  this 
gentleman  was  naturally  pleased,  and  threw  a  good  many 
consultation  fees  in  Staines's  way. 

The  Lucases,  to  his  great  comfort  —  for  he  had  an 
instinctive  aversion  to  Miss  Lucas  —  left  London  for 
Paris  in  August,  and  did  not  return  all  the  year. 

In  February  he  reviewed  his  year's  work  and  twelve 
months'  residence  in  the  Bijou.  The  pecuniary  result 
was,  outgoings,  nine  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  ;  income, 
from  fees,  two  hundred  and  eighty  pounds ;  writing, 
ninety  pounds. 

He  showed  these  figures  to  ^Nlrs.  Staines,  and  asked 
her  if  she  could  suggest  any  diminution  of  expenditure. 
Could  she  do  with  less  housekeeping  money  ? 

"  Oh,  impossible  !  You  cannot  think  how  the  servants 
eat ;  and  they  won't  touch  our  home-made  bread." 

"The  fools!     Why? 

^'  Oh,  because  they  think  it  costs  us  less.     Servants 


174  A   SIMPLETON- 

seem  to  me  always  to  liate  tlie  people  whose  bread  tliey 
eat." 

"More  likely  it  is  tlieir  vanity.  Nothing  that  is  not 
paid  for  before  their  eyes  seems  good  enough  for  them. 
Well,  dear,  the  bakers  will  revenge  us.  But  is  there  any 
other  item  Ave  could  reduce  ?     Dress  ?  " 

"  Dress  !     Why,  I  spend  nothing." 

"  Forty-five  pounds  this  year." 

"  Well,  I  shall  want  none  next  year." 

"  Well,  then,  Kosa,  as  there  is  nothing  we  can  reduce, 
I  must  write  more,  and  take  more  fees,  or  we  shall  be  in 
the  wrong  box.  Only  eight  hundred  and  sixty  pounds 
left  of  our  little  capital ;  and,  mind,  we  have  not  another 
shilling  in  the  world.  One  comfort,  there  is  no  debt. 
We  pay  ready  money  for  everything." 

Eosa  colored  a  little,  but  said  nothing. 

Staines  did  his  part  nobly.  He  read ;  he  wrote ;  he 
paced  the  yard.  He  wore  his  old  clothes  in>  the  house ; 
he  took  off  his  new  ones  when  he  came  in.  He  was  all 
genius,  drudgery,  patience. 

How  Phoebe  Dale  would  have  valued  him,  co-operated 
with  him,  and  petted  him,  if  she  had  had  the  good  luck 
to  be  his  wife  ! 

The  season  came  back,  and  with  it  Miss  Lucas,  towing 
a  brilliant  bride,  Mrs.  Vivian,  young,  rich,  pretty,  and 
gay,  with  a  waist  you  could  span,  and  athirst  for  pleasure. 

This  lady  was  the  first  that  ever  made  Eosa  downright 
jealous.  She  seemed  to  have  everything  the  female 
heart  could  desire ;  and  she  was  No.  1  with  Miss  Lucas 
this  year.  Now,  Eosa  was  No.  1  last  season,  and  had 
weakly  imagined  that  was  to  last  forever.  But  Miss 
Lucas  had  always  a  sort  of  female  flame,  and  it  never 
lasttid  two  seasons. 

Eosa  did  not  care  so  very  much  for  Miss  Lucas  before, 
except  as  a  convenient  friend;  but  now  she  was  mortified 


A   STMrL?:TON.  175 

to   tears  at  finding  INIiss  Lucas  made   more  fuss  with 
anotlier  tlian  with  her. 

This  foolish  feeling  spurred  her  to  attempt  a  rivalry 
with  :Mrs.  Vivian,  in  the  very  things  where  rivalry  was 
hopeless. 

Miss  Lucas  gave  both  ladies  tickets  for  a  flower- 
show,  Avhere  all  the  great  folk  were  to  be,  princes  and 
princesses,  etc. 

"  But  I  have  nothing  to  wear,"  sighed  Eosa. 

"Then  you  must  get  something,  and  mind  it  is  not 
pink,  please;  for  we  must  not  clash  in  colors.  You 
know  I'm  dark,  and  pink  becomes  me.  (The  selfish 
young  brute  was  not  half  so  dark  as  Kosa.)  Mine  is 
coming  from  AVortli's,  in  Paris,  on  purpose.  And  this 
new  Madame  Cie,  of  Kegent  Street,  has  suck  a  duck  of 
a  bonnet,  just  come  from  Paris.  She  wanted  to  make 
me  one  from  it ;  but  I  told  her  I  would  have  none  but 
the  pattern  bonnet  —  and  she  knows  very  w^ell  she  can't 
pass  a  copy  off  on  me.  Let  me  drive  you  up  there,  and 
you  can  see  mine,  and  order  one,  if  you  like  it." 

"Oh,  thank  you!  let  me  just  run  and  speak  to  my 
husband  first." 

Staines  Avas  writing  for  the  bare  life,  and  a  number  of 
German  books  about  him,  slaving  to  make  a  few  pounds 
—  when  in  comes  the  buoyant  figure  and  beaming  face 
his  soul  delighted  in. 

He  laid  down  his  work,  to  enjoy  the  sunbeam  of  love. 

"Oh,  darling,  I've  only  come  in  for  a  minute.  We 
are  going  to  a  flow^er-show  on  the  13th ;  everybody  will 
be  so  beautifully  dressed  —  especially  that  Mrs.  Vivian. 
I  have  got  ten  yards  of  beautiful  blue  silk  in  my  ward- 
robe, but  that  is  not  enough  to  make  a  whole  dress  — 
everything  takes  so  much  stuff  now.  Madame  Cie  does 
not  care  to  make  u})  dresses  unless  she  finds  the  silk,  but 
Miss  Lucas  says  she  thinks,  to  oblige  a  friend  of  hers, 


176  A   SIMPLETON. 

slie  would  do  it  for  once  in  a  way.  You  know,  dear,  it 
would  only  take  a  few  yards  more,  and  it  would  last  as  a 
dinner-dress  for  ever  so  long." 

Then  she  clasped  him  round  the  neck,  and  leaned  her 
head  upon  his  shoulder,  and  looked  lovingly  up  in  his 
face.  ''I  know  you  would  like  your  Eosa  to  look  as 
well  as  Mrs.  Vivian." 

"No  one  ever  looks  as  well,  in  my  eyes,  as  my  E-osa. 
There,  the  dress  will  add  nothing  to  your  beauty ;  but 
go  and  get  it,  to  please  yourself;  it  is  very  considerate 
of  you  to  have  chosen  something  of  which  you  have  ten 
yards,  already.  See,  dear,  I'm  to  receive  twenty  pounds 
for  this  article ;  if  research  was  paid  it  ought  to  be  a 
hundred.  I  shall  add  it  all  to  your  allowance  for  dresses 
this  year.  So  no  debt,  mind ;  but  come  to  me  for  every- 
thing." 

The  two  ladies  drove  off  to  Madame  Cie's,  a  pretty 
shop  lined  with  dark  velvet  and  lace  draperies. 

In  the  back  room  they  were  packing  a  lovely  bridal 
dress,  going  off  the  following  Saturday  to  New  York. 

"  What,  send  from  America  to  London  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes  !  "  exclaimed  Madame  Cie.  "  The 
American  ladies  are  excellent  customers.  They  buy 
everything  of  the  best,  and  the  most  expensive." 

"  I  have  brought  a  new  customer,"  said  Miss  Lucas ; 
"  and  I  want  you  to  do  a  great  favor,  and  that  is  to  match 
a  blue  silk,  and  make  her  a  pretty  dress  for  the  flower- 
show  on  the  13th." 

Madame  Cie  produced  a  white  muslin  polonaise,  which 

she  was  just  going  to  send  home  to  the  Princess ,  to 

be  worn  over  mauve. 

"  Oh,  how  pretty  and  simple  !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Lucas. 

"  I  have  some  lace  exactly  like  that,"  said  Mrs.  Staines. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  have  a  polonaise  ?  The  lace  is 
the  only  expensive  part,  the  muslin  is  a  mere  nothing  j 


A   SIMPLETON.  177 

and  it  is  siicli  a  useful  dress,  it  can  be  worn  over  any 
silk." 

It  was  agreed  Madame  Cie  was  to  send  for  the  blue 
silk  and  the  lace,  and  the  dresses  were  to  be  tried  on  on 
Thursday. 

On  Tliursday,  as  Rosa  went  gayly  into  iMadame  Cie's 
back  room  to  have  the  dresses  tried  on,  ^Madame  Cie 
said,  "You  have  a  beautiful  lace  shawl,  but  it  wants 
arranging;  in  five  minutes  I  could  astonish  you  with 
what  I  could  do  to  that  shawl." 

"Oh,  pray  do,"  said  Mrs.  Staines. 

The  dressmaker  kept  her  word.  By  the  time  the  blue 
dress  was  tried  on,  Madame  Cie  had,  with  the  aid  of  a 
few  pins,  plaits,  and  a  bow  of  blue  ribbon,  transformed 
the  half  lace  shawl  into  one  of  the  smartest  and  dlstmrjuk 
things  imaginable  ;  but  when  the  bill  came  in  at  Christ- 
mas, for  that  five  minutes'  labor  and  distlnrjue  touch,  she 
charged  one  pound  eight. 

Madame  Cie  then  told  the  ladies,  in  an  artfully  confi- 
dential tone,  she  had  a  quantity  of  black  silk  coming 
home,  which  she  had  purchased  considerably  below  cost 
price ;  and  that  she  should  like  to  make  them  each  a 
dress  —  not  for  her  own  sake,  but  theirs  —  as  she  knew 
they  would  never  meet  such  a  bargain  again.  "'You 
know.  Miss  Lucas,"  she  continued,  "  we  don't  want  our 
money,  when  we  know  our  customers.  Christmas  is 
soon  enough  for  us." 

"Christmas  is  a  long  time  off,"  thought  the  young 
wife,  "  nearly  ten  months.  I  think  I'll  have  a  black  silk, 
Madame  Cie ;  but  I  must  not  say  anything  to  the  doctor 
about  it  just  yet,  or  he  might  think  me  extravagant." 

"Xo  one  can  ever  think  a  lady  extravagant  for  buying 
a  black  silk;  it's  such  a  useful  dress;  lasts  forever  — 
almost." 

-Days,  weeks,  and  months  rolled  on,  and  with  them  an 


178  A   SENIPLETON. 

ever-rolling  tide  of  flower-shows,  clinnerS;  at-homes,  balls, 
operas,  lawn-parties,  concerts,  and  theatres. 

Strange  that  in  one  house  there  should  be  two  people 
who  loved  each  other,  yet  their  lives  ran  so  far  apart, 
except  while  they  were  asleep :  the  man  all  industry, 
self-denial,  patience ;  the  woman  all  frivolity,  self-indul- 
gence, and  amusement ;  both  chained  to  an  oar,  only  — 
one  in  a  working  boat,  the  other  in  a  painted  galley. 

The  woman  got  tired  first,  and  her  charming  color 
waned  sadly.  She  came  to  him  for  medicine  to  set  her 
up.     "  I  feel  so  languid." 

"  No,  no,"  said  he ;  "  no  medicine  can  do  the  work  of 
wholesome  food  and  rational  repose.  You  lack  the 
season  of  all  natures,  sleep.  Dine  at  horae  three  days 
running,  and  go  to  bed  at  ten." 

On  this  the  doctor's  wife  went  to  a  chemist  for  advice. 
He  gave  her  a  pink  stimulant ;  and,  as  stimulants  have 
two  effects,  viz.,  first  to  stimulate,  and  then  to  weaken, 
this  did  her  no  lasting  good.  Dr.  Staines  cursed  the 
London  season,  and  threatened  to  migrate  to  Liver- 
pool. 

But  there  was  worse  behind. 

Keturning  one  day  to  his  dressing-room,  just  after 
Eosa  had  come  down-stairs,  he  caught  sight  of  a  red  stain 
in  a  wash-hand-basin.  He  examined  it ;  it  was  arterial 
blood. 

He  went  to  her  directly,  and  expressed  his  anxiety. 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing,"  said  she. 

"  ISTothing  !     Pray,  how  often  has  it  occurred  ?  " 

"Once  or  twice.  I  must  take  your  advice,  and  be 
quiet,  that  is  all." 

Staines  examined  the  housemaid;  she  lied  instinc- 
tively at  first,  seeing  he  was  alarined ;  but,  being  urged 
to  tell  the  truth,  said  she  had  seen  it  repeatedly,  and  had 
told  the  cook. 


A   SIMPLKTUX.  17D 

He   Avent    down-stairs    again,  and    sat    down,  looking 
wretched. 

"  Oh,  dear  ! "  said  Rosa.     "  What  is  the  matter  now  ?  " 
"  Rosa,"  said  he,  very  gravely,  "  there  are  two  jjeoijle 
a  woman  is  mad  to  deceive  —  her  husband  and  her  phy- 
sician.    You  have  deceived  both.^' 


180  A   SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER   X. 

I  SUSPECT  Dr.  Staines  merely  meant  to  say  tliat  she 
had  concealed  from  him  an  alarming  symptom  for  several 
weeks ;  but  she  answered  in  a  hurry,  to  excuse  herself, 
and  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag  —  excuse  my  vulgarity. 

"  It  was  all  that  Mrs.  Vivian's  fault.  She  laughed  at 
me  so  for  not  wearing  them ;  and  she  has  a  waist  you 
can  span  —  the  wretch ! " 

"Oh,  then,  you  have  been  wearing  stays  clandes- 
tinely ?  " 

"  ^Y\lJ,  you  know  I  have.  Oh,  what  a  stupid !  I  have 
let  it  all  out.'' 

"  How  could  you  do  it,  when  you  knew,  by  experience, 
it  is  your  death  ?  " 

"  But  it  looks  so  beautiful,  a  tiny  waist." 

"  It  looks  as  hideous  as  a  Chinese  foot,  and,  to  the  eye 
of  science,  far  more  disgusting;  it  is  the  cause  of  so 
many  unlovely  diseases." 

"Just  tell  me  one  thing;  have  you  looked  at  Mrs. 
Vivian  ?  " 

"Minutely.  I  look  at  all  your  friends  with  great 
anxiety,  knowing  no  animal  more  dangerous  than  a  fool. 
Vivian  —  a  skinny  woman,  Avith  a  pretty  face,  lovely 
hair,  good  teeth,  dying  eyes  "  — 

"Yes,  lovely!" 

"  A  sure  proof  of  a  disordered  stomach  —  and  a  waist 
pinched  in  so  unnaturally,  that  I  said  to  myself,  '  Where 
on  earth  does  this  idiot  put  her  liver  ? '  Did  you  ever 
read  of  the  frog  who  burst,  trying  to  swell  to  an  ox  ? 
Well,  here  is  the  rivalry  reversed;  Mrs.  Vivian  is  a  bag 


A   SIMPLETON.  181 

of  bones  in  a  balloon;  slio  can  machine  herself  into  a 
wasp ;  but  a  line  young  woman  like  you,  with  flesh  and 
muscle,  must  kill  yourself  three  or  four  times  before 
you  can  make  your  body  as  meagre,  hideous,  angular, 
and  unnatural  as  Vivian's.  But  all  you  ladies  are  mono- 
maniacs ;  one  might  as  well  talk  sense  to  a  gorilla.  It 
brought  you  to  the  ed^e  of  the  grave.  I  saved  you.  Yet 
you  could  go  and  —  God  grant  me  patience.  So  I  sup- 
pose these  unprincipled  women  lent  you  their  stays  to 
deceive  your  husband  ?  " 

"^N'o.  But  they  laughed  at  me  so  that  —  Oh, 
Christie,  I'm  a  wretch ;  I  kept  a  pair  at  the  Lucases, 
and  a  pair  at  Madame  Cie's,  and  I  put  them  on  now  and 
then.'' 

"  But  you  never  appeared  here  in  them  ?  " 

"  What,  before  my  tyrant  ?     Oh  no,  I  dared  not." 

"  So  you  took  them  off  before  you  came  home  ?  " 

Rosa  hung  her  head,  and  said  "Yes"  in  a  reluctant 
whisper. 

"  You  spent  your  daylight  dressing.  You  dressed  to 
go  out ;  dressed  again  in  stays ;  dressed  again  without 
them;  and  all  to  deceive  your  husband,  and  kill  your- 
self, at  the  bidding  of  two  shallow,  heartless  women, 
who  would  dance  over  your  grave  without  a  pang  of 
remorse,  or  sentiment  of  any  kind,  since  they  live,  like 
midges,  oiil?/  to  dance  in  the  sunj  and  suck  some  worker's 
blood:' 

"  Oh,  Christie !  Pm  so  easily  led.  I  am  too  great  a 
fool  to  live.     Kill  me  !" 

And  she  kneeled  down,  and  renewed  the  request,  look- 
ing up  in  his  face  with  an  expression  that  might  have 
disarmed  Cain  ipsum. 

He  smiled  superior.  "  The  question  is,  are  you  sorry 
you  have  been  so  thoughtless  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear.     Oh  !  oh ! " 


182  A   SIMrLETON. 

"  Will  you  be  very  good  to  make  up  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes.  Only  tell  me  how;  for  it  does  not  come 
natural  to  poor  me." 

"  Keep  out  of  those  women's  way  for  the  rest  of  the 
season." 

"I  will." 

"  Bring  your  stays  home,  and  allow  me  to  do  what  I 
like  with  them." 

"  Of  course.     Cut  them  in  a  million  pieces." 

"  Till  you  are  recovered,  you  must  be  my  patient,  and 
go  nowhere  without  me." 

"  That  is  no  punishment,  I  am  sure." 

"  Punishment !  Am  I  the  man  to  punish  you  ?  I  only 
want  to  save  you." 

"  Well,  darling,  it  won't  be  the  first  time." 

"  No ;  but  I  do  hope  it  will  be  the  last." 


A   SIMPLETON.  183 


CHAPTEK  XI. 

^' Sublatd  causa  toUitur  ejfectusP  The  stays  being 
gone,  and  dissipation  moderated,  IVIrs.  Staines  bloomed 
again,  and  they  gave  one  or  two  unpretending  little 
dinners  at  the  Bijou.  Dr.  Staines  admitted  no  false 
friends  to  these.  They  never  Avent  beyond  eight;  five 
gentlemen,  three  ladies.  By  this  arrangement  the  terri- 
ble discursiveness  of  the  fair,  and  man's  cruel  disposi- 
tion to  work  a  subject  threadbare,  were  controlled  and 
modified,  and  a  happy  balance  of  conversation  established. 
Lady  Cicely  Treherne  was  always  invited,  and  always 
managed  to  come ;  for  she  said,  "  They  were  the  most 
agweeable  little  paaties  in  London,  and  the  host  and 
hostess  both  so  intewesting."  In  the  autumn,  Staines 
worked  double  tides  with  the  pen,  and  found  a  vehicle 
for  medical  narratives  in  a  weekly  magazine  that  did 
not  profess  medicine. 

This  new  vein  put  him  in  heart.  His  fees,  towards 
the  end  of  the  year,  were  less  than  last  year,  because 
there  was  no  hundred-guinea  fee ;  but  there  was  a 
marked  increase  in  the  small  fees,  and  the  unflagging 
Xjen  had  actually  earned  him  two  hundred  pounds,  or 
nearly.     So  he  was  in  good  spirits. 

Not  so  Mrs.  Staines ;  for  some  time  she  had  been 
uneasy,  fretful,  and  like  a  person  with  a  weight  on  her 
mind. 

One  Sunday  she  said  to  him,  "  Oh,  dear,  I  do  feel  so 
dull.  Nobody  to  go  to  church  with,  nor  yet  to  the 
Zoo." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Staines. 


184  A   SIMPLETON. 

"You  will!     To  which?" 

"  To  both ;  in  for  a  penny,  in  for  a  pound." 

So  to  church  they  went ;  and  Staines,  whose  motto  was 
^^  Hoc  age,^^  minded  his  book.  Kosa  had  intervals  of 
attention  to  the  words,  but  found  plenty  of  time  to 
study  the  costumes. 

During  the  Litany  in  bustled  Clara,  the  housemaid, 
with  a  white  jacket  on  so  like  her  mistress's,  that  Eosa 
clutched  her  own  convulsively,  to  see  whether  she  had 
not  been  skinned  of  it  by  some  devilish  sleight-of-hand. 

No,  it  was  on  her  back ;  but  Clara's  was  identical. 

In  her  excitement,  Bosa  pinched  Staines,  and  with  her 
nose,  that  went  like  a  water-wagtail,  pointed  out  the 
malefactor.  Then  she  whispered,  "  Look !  How  dare 
she  ?  My  very  jacket !  Earrings  too,  and  brooches,  and 
dresses  her  hair  like  mine." 

"  Well,  never  mind,"  whispered  Staines.  "  Sunday  is 
her  day.  We  have  got  all  the  week  to  shine.  There, 
don't  look  at  her — ^From  all  evil  speaking,  lyiug,  and 
slandering ' "  — 

"  I  can't  keep  my  eyes  off  her." 

"  Attend  to  the  Litany.  Do  you  know,  this  is  really  a 
beautiful  composition  ?  " 

"  I'd  rather  do  the  work  fifty  times  over  myself." 

"  Hush  !  people  will  hear  you." 

When  theyAvalked  home  after  church;  Staines  tried  to 
divert  her  from  the  consideration  of  her  wrongs ;  but 
no  —  all  other  topics  were  too  flat  by  comparison. 

She  mourned  the  hard  fate  of  mistresses  —  unfortu- 
nate creatures  that  could  not  do  without  servants. 

"Is  not  that  a  confession  that  servants  are  good, 
useful  creatures,  with  all  their  faults  ?  Then  as  to  the 
mania  for  dress,  why,  that  is  not  confined  to  them.  It 
is  the  mania  of  the  sex.     Are  you  free  from  it  ?  " 

"  No,  of  course  not.     But  I  am  a  lady,  if  you  please." 


A   SIMPLETON.  185 

"Then  she  is  your  intellectual  inferior,  and  more 
excusable.  Anyway,  it  is  wise  to  connive  at  a  thing  we 
can't  help." 

"  What  keep  her,  after  this  ?  no,  never." 

"  My  dear,  pray  do  not  send  her  away,  for  she  is  tidy 
in  the  house,  and  quick,  and  better  than  any  one  we  have 
had  this  last  six  months ;  and  you  know  you  have  tried 
a  great  number." 

"  To  hear  you  speak,  one  would  think  it  was  my  fault 
that  we  have  so  many  bad  servants." 

"I  never  said  it  was  your  fault;  but  I  think,  dearest, 
a  little  more  forbearance  in  trifles  "  — 

"  Trifles  !  trifles  —  for  a  mistress  and  maid  to  be  seen 
dressed  alike  in  the  same  church  ?  You  take  the  serv- 
ants' part  against  me,  that  you  do." 

"  You  should  not  say  that,  even  in  jest.  Come  now, 
do  you  really  think  a  jacket  like  yours  can  make  the 
servant  look  like  you,  or  detract  from  your  grace  and 
beauty  ?  There  is  a  very  simple  way  ;  put  your  jacket 
by  for  a  future  occasion,  and  wear  something  else  in  its 
stead  at  church." 

"A  nice  thing,  indeed,  to  give  in  to  these  creatures. 
I  won't  do  it." 

"  Why  won't  you,  this  once  ?  " 

"Because  I  won't  —  there  !" 

"  That  is  unanswerable,"  said  he. 

Mrs.  Staines  said  that ;  but  when  it  came  to  acting, 
she  deferred  to  her  husband's  wish ;  she  resigned  her 
intention  of  sending  for  Clara  and  giving  her  warning. 
On  the  contrary,  when  Clara  let  her  in,  and  the  white 
jackets  rubbed  together  in  the  narrow  passage,  she 
actually  said  nothing,  but  stalked  to  her  own  room,  and 
tore  her  jacket  off,  and  flung  it  on  the  floor. 

Unfortunately,  she  was  so  long  dressing  for  the  Zoo, 
that  Clara  came  in  to  arrange  the  room.     She  picks  up 


186  A    SIMPLETON. 

the  white  jacket,  takes  it  in  both  hands,  gives  it  a  flap, 
and  proceeds  to  hang  it  up  in  the  wardrobe. 

Then  the  great  feminine  heart  burst  its  bounds. 

"You  can  leave  that  alone.  I  shall  not  wear  that 
again." 

Thereupon  ensued  an  uneven  encounter,  Clara  being 
one  of  those  of  Avliom  the  Scripture  says,  "  The  poison 
of  asps  is  under  their  tongues." 

"  La,  ma'am,"  said  she,  "  why,  'tain't  so  very  dirty." 

"No ;  but  it  is  too  common." 

"  Oh,  because  I've  got  one  like  it.  Ay.  Missises  can't 
abide  a  good-looking  servant,  nor  to  see  'em  dressed 
becoming." 

"  Mistresses  do  not  like  servants  to  forget  their  place, 
nor  wear  what  does  not  become  their  situation." 

"  My  situation  !  Why,  I  can  pay  my  way,  go  where  I 
will.  I  don't  tremble  at  the  tradesmen's  knock,  as 
some  do." 

"  Leave  the  room  !     Leave  it  this  moment." 

"  Leave  the  room,  yes  —  and  I'll  leave  the  house  too, 
and  tell  all  the  neighbors  what  I  know  about  it." 

She  flounced  out  and  slammed  the  door ;  and  Kosa 
sat  down,  trembling. 

Clara  rushed  to  the  kitchen,  and  there  told  the  cook 
and  Andrew  Pearman  how  she  had  given  it  to  the 
mistress,  and  every  word  she  had  said  to  her,  with  a 
good  many  more  she  had  not. 

The  cook  laughed  and  encouraged  her. 

But  Andrew  Pearman  was  wroth,  and  said,  "  You  to 
affront  our  mistress  like  that !  Why,  if  I  had  heard  you, 
I'd  have  twisted  your  neck  for  ye." 

"  It  would  take  a  better  man  than  you  to  do  that.  You 
mind  your  own  business.     Stick  to  your  one-horse  chay." 

'■'  Well,  I'm  not  above  my  place,  for  that  matter.  But 
you  gals  must  always  be  aping  your  betters." 


A   SIMPLETON.  187 

"  T  have  got  a  proper  pride,  that  is  all,  and  you  haven't. 
You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  to  do  two  men's 
work ;  drive  a  brougham  and  wait  on  a  horse,  and  then 
come  in  and  wait  at  table,  You  are  a  tea-kettle  groom, 
that  is  what  you  are.  Why,  my  brother  was  coachman 
to  Lord  Fitz-James,  and  gave  his  lordship  notice  tlie  first 
time  he  had  to  drive  the  children.  Says  he,  'I  don't 
object  to  the  children,  iliy  lord,  but  with  her  ladyship  in 
the  carriage.'  It's  such  servants  as  you  as  spoil  places. 
No  servant  as  knows  what's  due  to  a  servant  ought  to 
know  you.  They'd  scorn  your  'quaintance,  as  I  do,  Mr. 
Pearman." 

"  You  are  a  stuck-up  hussy,  and  a  soldier's  jade,"  roared 
Andrew. 

"  And  you  are  a  low  tea-kettle  groom." 

This  expression  wounded  the  great  equestrian  soul  to 
the  quick ;  the  rest  of  Sunday  he  pondered  on  it ;  the 
next  morning  he  drove  the  doctor,  as  usual,  but  with  a 
heavy  heart. 

Meantime,  the  cook  made  haste  and  told  the  baker 
Pearman  had  "  got  it  hot "  from  the  housemaid,  and  she 
had  called  him  a  tearkettle  groom ;  and  in  less  than  half 
an  hour  after  that  it  was  in  every  stable  in  the  mews. 
Why,  as  Pearman  was  taking  the  horse  out  of  the 
brougham,  didn't  two  little  red-headed  urchins  call  out, 
"  Here,  come  and  see  the  tea-kettle  groom  ! "  and  at 
night  some  mischievous  boy  chalked  on  the  black  door 
of  the  stable  a  large  white  tea-kettle,  and  next  morning 
a  drunken,  idle  fellow,  with  a  clay  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
and  a  dirty  pair  of  corduroy  trousers,  no  coat,  but  a  shirt 
very  open  at  the  chest,  showing  inflamed  skin,  the  effect 
of  drink,  inspected  that  work  of  art  with  blinking  eyes 
and  vacillating  toes,  and  said,  "This  comes  of  a  chap 
doing  too  much.  A  few  more  like  you,  and  work  would 
be  scarce.     A  fine  thing  for  gentlefolks  to  make  one  man 


188  A   SIMPLETON. 

fill  two  places  !  but  it  ain't  the  gentlefolks'  fault,  it's  tlie 
man  as  humors  'em." 

Pearman  was  a  peaceable  man,  and  made  no  reply, 
but  went  on  with  his  work ;  only  during  the  day  he.  told 
his  master  that  he  should  be  obliged  to  him  if  he  would 
fill  his  situation  as  soon  as  convenient. 

The  master  inquired  the  cause,  and  the  man  told  him, 
and  said  the  mews  was  too  hot  for  him. 

The  doctor  offered  him  five  pounds  a  year  more,  know- 
ing he  had  a  treasure ;  but  Pearman  said,  Avith  sadness 
and  firmness,  that  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go,  and 
go  he  would. 

The  doctor's  heart  fairly  sank  at  the  prospect  of  losing 
the  one  creature  he  could  depend  upon. 

Next  Sunday  evening  Clara  was  out,  and  fell  in  with 
friends,  to  whom  she  exaggerated  her  grievance. 

Then  they  worked  her  up  to  fury,  after  the  manner  of 
servants'  friends.  She  came  home,  packed  her  box, 
brought  it  down,  and  then  flounced  into  the  room  to 
Doctor  and  Mrs.  Staines,  and  said,  "I  shan't  sleep 
another  night  in  this  house." 

Eosa  was  about  to  speak,  but  Dr.  Staines  forbade  her : 
he  said,  "  You  had  better  think  twice  of  that.  You  are 
a  good  servant,  though  for  once  you  have  been  betrayed 
into  speaking  disrespectfully.  Why  forfeit  your  charac- 
ter, and  three  weeks'  wages  ?  " 

"  I  don't  care  for  my  wages.  I  won't  stay  in  such  a 
house  as  this." 

"  Come,  you  must  not  be  impertinent." 

"I  don't  mean  to,  sir,"  said  she,  lowering  her  voice 
suddenly ;  then,  raising  it  as  suddenly,  "  There  are  my 
keys,  ma'am,  and  you  can  search  my  box." 

"Mrs.  Staines' will  not  search  your  box ;  and  you  will 
retire  at  once  to  your  own  part  of  the  house." 

"I'll  go  farther  than  that,"  said  she,  and  soon  after 
the  street  door  was  slammed;  the  Bijou  shook. 


A   SIMPLETON.  1^^ 

At  six  o'clock  next  morning,  she  came  for  her  box. 
It  had  been  put  away  for  safety.  Pearman  told  her  she 
must  wait  till  the  doctor  came  down.  She  did  not  wait, 
but  went  at  eleven  a.m.  to  a  police-magistrate,  and  took 
\  out  a  summons  against  Dr.  Staines,  for  detaining  a  box 
containing  certain  articles  specified  —  value  under  fifteen 
pounds. 

When  Dr.  Staines  heard  she  had  been  for  her  ])ox,  but 
left  no  address,  he  sent  Pearman  to  hunt  for  her.  He 
coidd  not  find  her.  She  avoided  the  house,  but  sent  a 
woman  for  her  diurnal  love  letters.  Dr.  Staines  sent 
the  w^oman  back  to  fetch  her.  She  came,  received  her 
box,  her  letters,  and  the  balance  of  her  wages,  which 
was  small,  for  Staines  deducted  the  three  weeks'  wages. 

Two  days  afterwards,  to  his  surprise,  the  summons 
was  served. 

Out  of  respect  for  a  court  of  justice,  however  humble. 
Dr.  Staines  attended  next  Monday  to  meet  the  sum- 
mons. 

The  magistrate  was  an  elderly  man,  w^ith  a  face  shaped 
like  a  hog's,  but  much  richer  in  color,  being  purple  and 
pimply ;  so  foul  a  visage  Staines  had  rarely  seen,  even 
in  the  lowest  class  of  the  community. 

Clara  swore  that  her  box  had  been  opened,  and  certain 
things  stolen  out  of  it ;  and  that  she  had  been  refused 
the  box  next  morning. 

'  Staines  swore  that  he  had  never  opened  the  box,  and 
that,  if  any  one  else  had,  it  was  with  her  consent,  for 
she  had  left  the  keys  for  that  purpose.  He  bade  the 
magistrate  observe  that  if  a  servant  went  away  like  this, 
and  left  no  address,  she  put  it  out  of  the  master's  poiver 
to  send  her  box  after  her ;  and  he  proved  he  had  some 
trouble  to  force  the  box  on  her. 

The  pig-faced  beak  showed  a  manifest  leaning  towards 
the  servant,  but  there  wasn't  a  leg  to  stand  on ;  and  he 


190  A   SIMPLETON. 

did  not  believe,  nor  was  it  credible,  that  anything  had 
been  stolen  out  of  her  box. 

At  this  moment,  Pearman,  sent  by  Eosa,  entered  the 
court  with  an  old  gown  of  Clara's  that  had  been  discov- 
ered in  the  scullery,  and  a  scribbling-book  of  the  doc- 
tor's, which  Clara  had  appropriated,  and  written  amorous 
verses  in,  very  superior  —  in  number  —  to  those  that 
have  come  down  to  us  from  Anacreon. 

"  Hand  me  those,"  said  the  pig-faced  beak. 

"  What  are  they.  Dr.  Staines  ?  " 

"  I  really  don't  know.     I  must  ask  my  servant." 

"  Why,  more  things  of  mine  that  have  been  detained/' 
said  Clara. 

"  Some  things  that  have  been  found  since  she  left," 
said  Staines. 

"  Oh  !  those  that  hide  know  where  to  find." 

"Young  woman,"  said  Staines,  "do  not  insult  those 
whose  bread  you  have  eaten,  and  who  have  given  you 
many  presents  besides  your  wages.  Since  you  are  so 
ready  to  accuse  people  of  stealing,  permit  me  to  say  that 
this  book  is  mine,  and  not  yours ;  and  yet,  you  see,  it  is 
sent  after  you  because  you  have  written  your  trash  in  it." 

The  purple,  pig-faced  beak  went  instantly  out  of  the 
record,  and  wasted  a  deal  of  time  reading  Clara's  poetry, 
and  trying  to  be  witty.  He  raised  the  question  whose 
book  this  was.  The  girl  swore  that  it  was  given  her  by 
a  lady  who  was  now  in  E-ome.  Staines  swore  he  bought 
it  of  a  certain  stationer,  and  happening  to  have  his  pass- 
book in  his  pocket,  produced  an  entry  corresponding 
with  the  date  of  the  book. 

The  pig-faced  beak  said  that  the  doctor's  was  an  im- 
probable story,  and  that  the  gown  and  the  book  were 
quite  enough  to  justify  the  summons.  Verdict,  one 
guinea  costs. 

"What,  because  two  things  she  never  demanded  have 


A  SIMPLETON.  191 

been  found  and  sent  after  her  ?     This  is  monstrous.     I 
shall  appeal  to  your  superiors." 

"  If  you  are  impertinent  I'll  fine  you  five  pounds." 

"  Very  well,  sir.  Now  hear  me :  if  this  is  an  honest 
judgment,  I  pray  God  I  may  be  dead  before  the  year's 
out ;  and,  if  it  isn't,  I  pray  God  you  may  be." 

Then  the  pig-faced  beak  fired  up,  and  threatened  to 
fine  him  for  blaspheming. 

He  deigned  no  reply,  but  paid  the  guinea,  and  Clara 
swept  out  of  the  court,  with  a  train  a  yard  long,  and 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  a  scarlet  soldier  who  avenged  Dr. 
Staines  with  military  promptitude. 

Christopher  went  home  raging  internally,  for  hitherto 
he  had  never  seen  so  gross  a  case  of  injustice. 

One  of  his  humble  patients  followed  him,  and  said,  "  I 
wish  I  had  known,  sir ;  you  shouldn't  have  come  here  to 
be  insulted.  Why,  no  gentleman  can  ever  get  justice 
against  a  servant  girl  when  he  is  sitting.  It  is  notorious, 
and  that  makes  these  hussies  so  bold.  I've  seen  that 
jade  here  with  the  same  story  twice  afore." 

Staines  reached  home  more  discomposed  than  he  could 
have  himself  believed.  The  reason  was  that  barefaced 
injustice  in  a  court  of  justice  shook  his  whole  faith  in 
man.  He  opened  the  street  door  with  his  latch-key,  and 
found  two  men  standing  in  the  passage.  He  inquired 
what  they  wanted. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  one  of  them,  civilly  enough,  "we 
only  want  our  due." 

"For  what?" 

"For  goods  delivered  at  this  house,  sir.  Balance  of 
account."  And  he  handed  him  a  butcher's  bill,  £88, 
ll5.  ^d. 

"  You  must  be  mistaken ;  we  run  no  bills  here.  We 
pay  ready  money  for  everything." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  butcher,  "  there  have  been  pay- 


192  A  SIMPLETON. 

meiits;  but  the  balance  has  always  been  gaining;  and 
we  have  been  put  off  so  often,  we  determined  to  see  the 
master.     Show  you  the  books,  sir,  and  welcome." 

"  This  instant,  if  you  please."  He  took  the  butcher's 
address,  who  then  retired,  and  the  other  tradesman,  a 
grocer,  told  him  a  similar  tale ;  balance,  sixty  pounds 
odd. 

He  went  to  the  butcher's,  sick  at  heart,  inspected  the 
books,  and  saw  that,  right  or  wrong,  they  were  incontro- 
vertible ;  that  debt  had  been  gaining  slowly,  but  surely, 
almost  from  the  time  he  confided  the  accounts  to  his 
wife.  She  had  kept  faith  with  him  about  five  weeks,  no 
more. 

The  grocer's  books  told  a  similar  tale. 

The  debtor  put  his  hand  to  his  heart,  and  stood  a 
moment.  The  very  grocer  pitied  him,  and  said,  "  Tliere's 
no  hurry,  doctor ;  a  trifle  on  account,  if  settlement  in  full 
not  convenient  just  now.  I  see  you  have  been  kept  in 
the  dark." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Christopher;  "  I'll  pay  every  shilling." 
He  gave  one  gulp,  and  hurried  away. 

At  the  fishmonger's,  the  same  story,  only  for  a  smaller 
amount. 

A  bill  of  nineteen  pounds  at  the  very  pastrycook's ;  a 
place  she  had  promised  him,  as  her  physician,  never  to 
enter. 

At  the  draper's,  thirty-seven  pounds  odd. 

In  short,  wherever  she  had  dealt,  the  same  system: 
l)artial  payments,  and  ever-growing  debt. 

Eemembering  Madame  Cie,  he  drove  in  a  cab  to  Eegent 
Street,  and  asked  for  Mrs.  Staines's  account. 

"  Shall  I  send  it,  sir  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  will  take  it  with  me." 

"Miss  Edwards,  make  out  Mrs.  Staines's  account,  if 
you  please." 


A    SIMPLETON.  193 

Miss  Edwards  was  a  good  while  making  it  out;  ])ut 
it  was  ready  at  last.  He  thrust  it  into  his  pocket,  with- 
out daring  to  look  at  it  there  ;  but  he  went  into  Verrey's, 
and  asked  for  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  perused  the  document. 

The  principal  items  were  as  follows  :  — 

I    s- 
May -i.       Re-shaping  and  repairing  elegant  lace  mantle,    1     8 
Chip  bonnet,  feather,  and  flowers    ....    4    4 
Maij  20.     Making  and  trimming  blue  silk  dress  — mate- 
rial part  found 19  19 

Five  yards  rich  blue  silk  to  match  ....    4    2 
June  1.       Polonaise  and  jacket  trimmed  with  lace  — 

material  part  found 17  17 

June  8.       One  black  silk  dress,  handsomely  trimmed 

with  jet  guipure  and  lace 49  18 

A  few  shreds  and  fragments  of  finery,  bought  at  odd 
times,  swelled  the  bill  to  £99  11^.  6d.  — not  to  terrify  the 
female  mind  with  three  figures. 

And  let  no  unsophisticated  young  lady  imagine  that 
the  trimmings,  which  constituted  three-fourths  of  this 
bill,  were  worth  anything.  The  word  "  lace,"  in  Madame 
Cie's  bill,  invariably  meant  machine-made  trash,  worth 
tenpence  a  yard,  but  charged  eighteen  shillings  a  yard 
for  one  pennyworth  of  work  in  putting  it  on.  Where 
real  lace  was  used,  Madame  Cie  always  let  her  customers 
know  it.  Miss  Lucas's  bill  for  this  year  contained  the 
two  following  little  items  :  — 

£  s. 
Rich  gros   de  cecile  polonaise  and  jacket  to   match, 

trinnned  with  Chantilly  lace  and  Valenciennes  .   .     .68  5 

Superb  robe  de  chambre,  richly  trimmed  with  skunk  fur,  40  0    . 

The  customer  found  the  stuff;  viz.,  two  shawls.  Caro- 
lina found  the  nasty  little  pole-cats,  and  got  twenty -four 
shillings  for  them  ;  ]\radame  Cie  found  the  rest. 

But  Christopher  Staines  had  not  Miss  Lucas's  bill  to 


194  A   SIMPLETON. 

compare  his  wife's  with.  He  could  only  compare  the 
latter  with  their  income,  and  Avith  male  notions  of 
common  sense  and  reason. 

He  went  home,  and  into  his  studio,  and  sat  down  on 
his  hard  beech  chair ;  he  looked  round  on  his  books  and 
his  work,  and  then,  for  the  first  time,  remembered  how 
long  and  how  patiently  he  had  toiled  for  every  hundred 
pounds  he  had  made ;  and  he  laid  the  evidences  of  his 
wife's  profusion  and  deceit  by  the  side  of  those  signs  of 
painful  industry  and  self-denial,  and  his  soul  filled  with 
bitterness.     "  Deceit !  deceit ! " 

IMrs.  Staines  heard  he  was  in  the  house,  and  came  to 
know  about  the  trial.  She  came  hurriedly  in,  and  caught 
him  with  his  head  on  the  table,  in  an  attitude  of  prostra- 
tion, quite  new  to  him ;  he  raised  his  head  directly  he 
heard  her,  and  revealed  a«face,  pale,  stern,  and  wretched. 

"  Oh  !  what  is  the  matter  now  ?  "  said  she. 

"The  matter  is  what  it  has  always  been,  if  I  could 
only  have  seen  it.  You  have  deceived  me,  and  disgraced 
yourself.     Look  at  those  bills." 

"What  bills?     Oh!" 

"  You  have  had  an  allowance  for  housekeeping." 

"  It  wasn't  enough." 

"  It  was  plenty,  if  you  had  kept  faith  with  me,  and 
paid  ready  money.  It  was  enough  for  the  first  five 
weeks.  I  am  housekeeper  now,  and  I  shall  allow  myself 
two  pounds  a  week  less,  and  not  owe  a  shilling  either." 

"  Well,  all  I  know  is,  I  couldn't  do  it :  no  woman 
could." 

"  Then,  you  should  have  come  to  me,  and  said  so  ;  and 
I  would  have  shown  you  how.  Was  I  in  Egypt,  or  at 
the  North  Pole,  that  you  could  not  find  me,  to  treat  me 
like  a  friend  ?  You  have  ruined  us :  these  debts  will 
sweep  away  the  last  shilling  of  our  little  capital ;  but  it 
isn't  that,  oh,  no  !  it  is  the  miserable  deceit." 


^r    >vv 


-A 


/•^ 


?b=- 


A   SIMPLETON.  195 

Rosa's  eye  caught  the  sum  total  of  Madame  Cie's  bill, 
and  she  turned  pale.  "  Oh,  what  a  cheat  that  woman  is  !  " 
But  she  turned  i^iler  when  Christopher  said,  "  That  is 
the  one  honest  bill ;  for  I  gave  you  leave.  It  is  these 
that  part  us  :  these  !  these  !  Look  at  them,  false  heart ! 
There,  go  and  pack  up  your  things.  We  can  live  here 
no  longer;  we  are  ruined.  I  must  send  you  back  to 
your  father." 

"I  thought  you  would,  sooner  or  later,"  said  INTrs. 
Staines,  panting,  trembling,  but  showing  a  little  fight. 
"  He  told  you  I  wasn't  fit  to  be  a  poor  man's  wife." 

"  An  honest  man's  wife,  you  mean :  that  is  what  you 
are  not  fit  for.  You  will  go  home  to  your  father,  and  I 
shall  go  into  some  humble  lodging  to  work  for  you. 
I'll  contrive  to  keep  you,  and  find  you  a  hundred  a  year 
to  spend  in  dress  —  the  only  thing  your  heart  can  really 
love.  But  I  won't  have  an  enemy  here  in  the  disguise 
of  a  friend ;  and  I  won't  have  a  wife  about  me  I  must 
treat  like  a  servant,  and  watch  like  a  traitor." 

The  words  were  harsh,  but  the  agony  with  which  they 
were  spoken  distinguished  them  from  \Tilgar  vituperation. 
They  overpowered  poor  Rosa ;  she  had  been  ailing  a 
little  some  time,  and  from  remorse  and  terror,  coupled 
with  other  causes,  nature  gave  w^ay.  Her  lips  turned 
white,  she  gasped  inarticulately,  and,  with  a  little  piteous 
moan,  tottered,  and  swooned  dead  away. 

He  was  walking  wildly  about,  ready  to  tear  his  hair, 
when  she  tottered ;  he  saw  her  just  in  time  to  save  her, 
and  laid  her  gently  on  the  floor,  and  kneeled  over  her. 

Away  went  anger  and  every  other  feeling  but  love  and 
pity  for  the  poor,  weak  creature  that,  with  all  her  faults, 
was  so  lovable  and  so  loved. 

He  applied  no  remedies  at  first :  he  knew  they  were 
useless  and  unnecessary.  He  laid  her  head  quite  low, 
and  opened  door  and  window,  and  loosened  all  her  di-ess, 
sighing  deeply  all  the  time  at  her  condition. 


196  A   SIMrLETON. 

While  he  was  thus  employed,  suddenly  a  strange  cry 
broke  from  him :  a  cry  of  horror,  remorse,  joy,  tender- 
ness, all  combined :  a  cry  compared  with  which  language 
is  inarticulate.  His  swift  and  practical  eye  had  made  a 
discovery. 

He  kneeled  over  her,  witli  his  eyes  dilating  and  his 
hands  clasped,  a  picture  of  love  and  tender  remorse. 

She  stirred. 

Then  he  made  haste,  and  applied  his  remedies,  and 
brought  her  slowly  back  to  life ;  he  lifted  her  u]3,  and 
carried  her  in  his  arms  quite  away  from  the  bills  and 
things,  that,  when  she  came  to,  she  might  see  nothing  to 
revive  her  distress.  He  carried  her  to  the  drawing-room, 
and  kneeled  down  and  rocked  her  in  his  arms,  and  pressed 
her  again  and  again  gently  to  his  heart,  and  cried  over 
her.  "  0  my  dove,  my  dove !  the  tender  creature  God 
gave  me  to  love  .and  cherish,  and  have  I  used  it  harshly  ? 
If  I  had  only  knoAvn  !  if  I  had  only  known  !  " 

While  he  was  thus  bemoaning  her,  and  blaming  him- 
self, and  crying  over  her  like  the  rain,  —  he,  whom  she 
had  never  seen  shed  a  tear  before  in  all  his  troubles,  — 
she  was  coming  to  entirely,  and  her  quick  ears  caught 
his  words,  and  she^^pened  her  lovely  eyes  on  him. 

"I  forgive  you,  dear,"  she  said  feebly.     "But  I  hope 

YOU  WILL  BE  A  KINDER  FATHER  THAN  A  HUSBAND." 

These  quiet  words,  spoken  with  rare  gravity  and  soft- 
ness, went  through  the  great  heart  like  a  knife. 

He  gave  a  sort  of  shiver,  but  said  not  a  word. 

But  that  night  he  made  a  solemn  vow  to  God  that  no 
harsh  word  from  his  lips  should  ever  again  strike  a  being 
so  weak,  so  loving,  and  so  beyond  his  comprehension. 
Why  look  for  courage  and  candor  in  a  creature  so  timid 
and  shy,  she  could  not  even  tell  her  husband  that  until, 
with  her  subtle  sense,  she  saw  he  had  discovered  it  ? 


A  SESIPLETON.  197 


CHAPTER  XII. 

To  be  a  father ;  to  have  an  image  of  his  darling  Rosa, 
and  a  fruit  of  their  love  to  live  and  work  for :  this  gave 
the  sore  heart  a  heavenly  glow,  and  elasticity  to  bear. 
Should  this  dear  object  be  born  to  an  inheritance  of 
debt,  of  poverty  ?     Never. 

He  began  to  act  as  if  he  was  even  now  a  father.  He 
entreated  Rosa  not  to  trouble  or  vex  herself ;  he  would 
look  into  their  finances,  and  set  all  straight. 

He  paid  all  the  bills,  and  put  by  a  quarter's  rent  and 
taxes.  Then  there  remained  of  his  little  capital  just 
ten  pounds. 

He  went  to  his  printers,  and  had  a  thousand  order- 
checks  printed.     These  forms  ran  thus  :  — 

"Dr.  Staines,  of  13  Dear  Street,  Mayfair  (blank  for 
date),  orders  of  (blank  here  for  tradesman  and  goods 
ordered),  for  cash.  Received  same  time  (blank  for 
tradesman's  receipt).  Notice:  Dr.  Staines  disowns  all 
orders  not  printed  on  this  form,  and  paid  for  at  date  of 
order." 

He  exhibited  these  forms,  and  warned  all  the  trades- 
people, before  a  witness  whom  he  took  round  for  that 
purpose. 

He  paid  off  Pearman  on  the  spot.  Pearman  had  met 
Clara,  dressed  like  a  pauper,  her  soldier  having  emptied 
her  box  to  the  very  dregs,  and  he  now  offered  to  stay. 
But  it  was  too  late. 

Staines  told  the  cook  Mrs.  Staines  was  in  delicate 
health,  and  must  not  be  troubled  with  anything.  She 
must  come  to  him  for  all  orders. 


198  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  she.  But  she  no  sooner  comprehended 
the  check  system  fully  than  .she  gave  warning.  It 
put  a  stop  to  her  wholesale  pilfering.  Eosa's  cooks  had 
made  fully  a  hundred  pounds  out  of  her  amongst  them 
since  she  began  to  keep  accounts. 

Under  the  male  housekeeper  every  article  was  weighed 
on  delivery,  and  this  soon  revealed  that  the  butcher  aud 
the  fishmonger  had  habitually  delivered  short  weiglit 
from  the  first,  besides  putting  down  the  same  thing 
twice.  The  things  were  sent  back  that  moment,  with  a 
printed  form,  stating  the  nature  and  extent  of  the  fraud. 

The  washerwoman,  who  had  been  pilfering  wholesale 
so  long  as  Mrs.  Staines  and  her  sloppy-headed  maids 
counted  the  linen,  and  then  forgot  it,  was  brought  up 
with  a  run,  by  triplicate  forms,  and  by  Staines  counting 
the  things  before  two  witnesses,  and  compelling  the 
washerwoman  to  count  them  as  well,  and  verify  or  dis- 
pute on  the  spot.  The  laundress  gave  warning  —  a  plain 
confession  that  stealing  had  been  part  of  her  trade. 

He  kept  the  house  well  for  three  pounds  a  week, 
exclusive  of  coals,  candles,  and  wine.  His  wife  had  had 
five  pounds,  and  whatever  slie  asked  for  dinner-parties, 
yet  found  it  not  half  enough  upon  her  method. 

He  kept  no  coachman.  If  he  visited  a  patient,  a  man 
in  the  yard  drove  him  at  a  shilling  per  hour. 

By  these  means,  and  by  working  like  a  galley  slave, 
he  dragged  his  expenditure  down  almost  to  a  level  with 
his  income. 

Eosa  was  quite  content  at  first,  and  thought  herself 
lucky  to  escape  reproaches  on  such  easy  terms. 

But  by  and  by  so  rigorous  a  system  began  to  gall  her. 
One  day  she  fancied  a  Bath  bun;  sent  the  new'niaid  to 
the  pastry-cook's.  Pastry-cook  asked  to  see  the  doctor's 
order.     Maid  could  not  show  it,  and  came  back  bunless. 

Eosa  came  into  the  study  to  complain  to  her  husband. 


A  Sr>rPLETON.  100 

"  A  Bath  bun,"  said  Staines.  "  Wliy,  they  are  colored 
with  annotto,  to  save  an  egg,  and  annotto  is  adulterated 
with  chromates  that  are  poison.  Adulteration  upon 
adulteration.  7 '11  make  you  a  real  Bath  bun."  Off  coat, 
and  into  the  kitchen,  and  made  her  three,  pure,  but 
rather  heavy.  He  brought  them  her  in  due  course. 
She  declined  them  languidly.  She  was  off  the  notion, 
as  they  say  in  Scotland. 

"  If  I  can't  have  a  thing  when  I  want  it,  I  don't  care 
for  it  at  all."  Such  was  the  principle  she  laid  down  for 
his  future  guidance. 

He  sighed,  and  went  back  to  his  work ;  she  cleared 
the  plate. 

One  day,  when  she  asked  for  the  carriage,  he  told  her 
the  time  was  now  come  for  her  to  leave  off  carriage 
exercise.     She  must  walk  with  him  every  day,  instead. 

"  But  I  don't  like  walking." 

''  I  am  sorry  for  that.  But  it  is  necessary  to  you,  and 
by  and  by  your  life  may  depend  on  it." 

Quietly,  but  inexorably,  he  dragged  her  out  walking 
every  day. 

In  one  of  these  walks  she  stopped  at  a  shop  window, 
and  fell  in  love  with  some  baby's  things.  "  Oh  !  I  must 
have  that,"  said  she.  "  I  must.  I  shall  die  if  I  don't ; 
you'll  see  now." 

"  You  shall,"  said  he,  "  when  I  can  pay  for  it,"  and 
drew  her  away. 

The  tears  of  disappointment  stood  in  her  eyes,  and  his 
heart  yearned  over  her.     But  he  kept  his  head. 

He  changed  the  dinner  hour  to  six,  and  used  to  go  out 
directly  afterwards. 

She  began  to  complain  of  his  leaving  her  alone  like  that. 

"Well,  but  wait  a  bit,"  said  he;  "suppose  I  am 
making  a  little  money  by  it,  to  buy  you  something  you 
have  set  your  heart  on,  poor  darling ! " 


200  A   SIMPLETON. 

In  a.  very  few  days  after  tliis,  he  brought  her  a  little 
box  with  a  slit  in  it.  He  shook  it,  and  money  rattled  ; 
then  he  unlocked  it,  and  poured  out  a  little  pile  of 
silver.  "There,"  said  he,  "put  on  your  bonnet,  and 
come  and  buy  those  things." 

She  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  on  the  way  she  asked  how 
it  came  to  be  all  in  silver. 

"  That  is  a  puzzler,"  said  he,  "  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  And  how  did  you  make  it,  dear  ?  by  writing  ?  " 

"No." 

"  By  fees  from  the  poor  people  ?  " 

"What,  undersell  my  brethren!  Hang  it,  no!  My 
dear,  I  made  it  honestly,  and  some  day  I  will  tell  you 
how  I  made  it ;  at  present,  all  I  will  tell  you  is  this  : 
I  saw  my  darling  longing  for  something  she  had  a  right 
to  long  for ;  I  saw  the  tears  in  her  sweet  eyes,  and  — 
oh,  come  along,  do.  I  am  wretched  till  I  see  you  with 
the  things  in  your  hand." 

They  went  to  the  shop  ;  and  Staines  sat  and  watched 
Kosa  buying  baby-clothes.  Oh,  it  was  a  pretty  sight  to 
see  this  modest  young  creature,  little  more  than  a  child 
hei'self,  anticipating  maternity,  but  blushing  every  now 
and  then,  and  looking  askant  at  her  lord  and  master. 
How  his  very  bowels  yearned  over  her ! 
'  And  when  they  got  home,  she  spread  the  things  on  a 
table,  and  they  sat  hand  in  hand,  and  looked  at  them, 
and  she  leaned  her  head  on  his  shoulder,  and  went  quietly 
to  sleep  there. 

And  yet,  as  time  rolled  on,  she  became  irritable  at 
times,  and  impatient,  and  wanted  all  manner  of  things 
she  could  not  have,  and  made  him  unhappy. 

Then  he  Avas  out  from  six  o'clock  till  one,  and  she 
took  it  into  her  head  to  be  jealous.  So  many  hours  to 
spend  away  from  her!  Now  that  she  wanted  all  his 
comfort. 


A  SIISIPLETON.  201 

Presently,  Ellen,  the  new  maid,  got  gossiping  in  the 
yard,  and  a  groom  told  her  her  master  had  a  sweetheart 
CD  the  sly,  he  thought ;  for  he  drove  the  brougham  out 
every  evening  himself;  "and,"  said  the  man,  "he  wears 
a  mustache  at  night." 

Ellen  ran  in,  brimful  of  this,  and  told  the  cook  ;  the 
cook  told  the  washerwoman ;  the  washerwoman  told  a 
dozen  families,  till  about  two  hundred  people  knew  it. 

At  last  it  came  to  Mrs.  Staines  in  a  roundabout  way, 
at  the  very  moment  when  she  was  complaining  to  Lady 
Cicely  Treherne  of  her  hard  lot.  She  had  been  telling 
her  she  was  nothing  more  than  a  lay-figure  in  the  house. 

"  My  husband  is  housekeeper  now,  and  cook,  and  all, 
and  makes  me  delicious  dishes,  I  can  tell  you;  S7cch 
curries !  I  couldn't  keep  the  house  with  five  pounds  a 
week,  so  now  he  does  it  with  three  :  and  I  never  get  the 
carriage,  because  walking  is  best  for  me ;  and  he  takes 
it  out  every  night  to  make  money.  I  don't  understand 
it" 

Lady  Cicely  suggested  that  perhaps  Dr.  Staines 
thought  it  best  for  her  to  be  relieved  of  all  worry,  and 
so  undertook  the  housekeeping. 

"No,  no,  no,"  said  Eosa ;  "I  used  to  pay  them  all  a 
part  of  their  bills,  and  then  a  little  more,  and  so  I  kept 
getting  deeper ;  and  I  was  ashamed  to  tell  Christie,  so 
that  he  calls  deceit ;  and  oh,  he  spoke  to  me  so  cruelly 
once!  But  he  was  very  sorry  afterwards,  poor  dear! 
Why  are  girls  brought  up  so  silly  ?  all  piano,  and  no 
sense;  and  why  are  men  sillier  still  to  go  and  marry 
such  silly  things  ?  A  wife  !  I  am  not  so  much  as  a 
servant.  Oh,  I  am  finely  humiliated,  and,"  with  a  sudden 
hearty  naivete  all  her  own,  "it  serves  me  just  right." 

While  Lady  Cicely  was  puzzling  this  out,  in  came  a 
letter.  Rosa  opened  it,  read  it,  and  gave  a  cry  like 
a  wounded  deer. 


202  A   SOIPLETON. 

"  Oh ! "  slie  cried,  "  I  am  a  miserable  woman.  What 
will  become  of  me  ?  '^ 

The  letter  informed  her  blnntly  that  her  hnsband 
drove  his  brougham  out  every  night  to  pursue  a  criminal 
amour. 

While  Eosa  was  wringing  her  hands  in  real  anguish 
of  heart,  Lady  Cicely  read  the  letter  carefully. 

"  I  don't  believe  this,"  said  she  quietly. 

"  Not  true  !  Why,  who  would  be  so  wicked  as  to  stab 
a  poor,  inoffensive  wretch  like  me,  if  it  wasn't  true  ?  " 

*'The  first  ugly  woman  Avould,  in  a  minute.  Don't 
you  see  the  witer  can't  tell  you  where  he  goes  ?  Dwives 
his  bwougham  out !     That  is  all  your  inf aumant  knows." 

"  Oh,  my  dear  friend,  bless  you !  What  have  I  been 
complaining  to  you  about  ?  All  is  light,  except  to  lose 
his  love.  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  will  never  tell  him.  I 
will  never  affront  him  by  saying  I  suspected  him." 

"  Wosa,  if  you  do  that,  you  will  always  have  a  serpent 
gnawing  you.  No ;  you  must  put  the  letter  quietly  into 
his  hand,  and  say,  ^  Is  there  any  truth  in  that  ? '  " 

"Oh,  I  could  not;.  I  haven't  the  courage.  If  I  do 
that,  I  shall  know  by  his  face  if  there  is  any  truth  in  it." 

"Well,  and  you  must  know  the  twuth.  You  shall 
know  it.  I  want  to  know  it  too  ;  for  if  he  does  not  love 
you  twuly,  I  will  nevaa  twust  m^^self  to  anything  so 
deceitful  as  a  man." 

Rosa  at  last  consented  to  follow  this  advice. 

After  dinner  she  put  the  letter  into  Christopher's  hand, 
and  asked  him  quietly  was  there  any  truth  in  that :  then 
her  hands  trembled,  and  her  eyes  drank  him. 

Christopher  read  it,  and  frowned;  then  he  looked 
Tip,  and  said,  "  No,  not  [i  word.  What  scoundrels  there 
are  in  the  world !  To  go  and  tell  you  that,  noiu  I  Why, 
you  little  goose !  have  you  been  silly  enough  to  believe 
it?" 


A   SIMPLETON.  203 

"  No,  "  said  she  irresolutely.  "  But  do  you  drive  the 
brougham  out  every  night  ?  " 

"  Except  Sunday." 

"  Where  ?  " 

"My  dear  wife,  I  never  loved  you  as  I  love  you 
now ;  and  if  it  was  not  for  you,  I  should  not  drive  the 
brougham  out  of  nights.  Tliat  is  all  I  shall  tell  you  at 
jn-esent ;  but  some  day  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

He  took  such  a  calm  high  hand  with  her  about  it,  that 
she  submitted  to  leave  it  there  ;  but  from  this  moment 
the  serpent  doubt  nibbled  her. 

It  had  one  curious  effect,  though.  She  left  off  com- 
plaining of  trifles. 

Now  it  happened  one  night  that  Lady  Cicely  Treherne 
and  a  friend  were  at  a  concert  in  Hanover  Square.  The 
other  lady  felt  rather  faint,  and  Lady  Cicely  offered  to 
take  her  home.  The  carriages  had  not  yet  arrived,  and 
Miss  Macnamara  said  to  walk  a  few  steps  would  do  her 
good :  a  smart  cabman  saw  them  from  a  distance  and 
drove  up,  and  touching  his  hat  said,  "  Cab,  ladies  ?  " 

It  seemed  a  very  superior  cab,  and  Miss  Macnamara 
said  "  Yes  "  directly. 

The  cabman  bustled  down  and  opened  the  door ;  Miss 
Macnamara  got  in  first,  then  Lady  Cicely ;  her  eye  fell 
on  the  cabman's  face,  which  was  lighted  full  by  a  street- 
lamp,  and  it  was  Christopher  Staines  ! 

He  started  and  winced ;  but  the  woman  of  the  world 
never  moved  a  muscle. 

"  Where  to  ?  "  said  Staines,  averting  his  head. 

She  told  him  where,  and  when  they  got  out,  said,  "I'll 
send  it  you  by  the  servant." 

A  flunkey  soon  after  appeared  with  half-a-crown,  and 
the  amateur  coachman  drove  away.  He  said  to  him- 
self, "Come,  my  mustache  is  a  better  disguise  than  1 
thought." 


204  A   SIISirLETON. 

Next  day,  and  tlie  day  after,  he  asked  Eosa,  with 
affected  carelessness,  had  she  heard  anything  of  Lady 
Cicely. 

"  No,  dear ;  but  I  dare  say  she  will  call  this  afternoon : 
it  is  her  day." 

She  did  call  at  last,  and  after  a  few  words  with  Rosa, 
became  a  little  restless,  and  asked  if  she  might  consult 
Dr.  Staines. 

"  Certainly,  dear.     Come  to  his  studio." 

"  No  ;  might  I  see  him  here  ?  " 

"  Certainly."  She  rang  the  bell,  and  told  the  servant 
to  ask  Dr.  Staines  if  he  would  be  kind  enough  to  step 
into  the  drawing-room. 

Dr.  Staines  came  in,  and  bowed  to  Lady  Cicely,  and 
eyed  her  a  little  uncomfortably. 

She  began,  however,  in  a  way  that  put  him  quite  at 
his  ease.  "  You  remember  the  advice  you  gave  us  about 
my  little  cousin  Tadcastah." 

"Perfectly:  his  life  is  very  precarious ;  he  is  bilious, 
consumptive,  and,  if  not  watched,  will  be  epileptical; 
and  he  has  a  foncl,"weak  mother,  who  will  let  him  kill 
himself." 

"  Exactly  :  and  you  wecommended  a  sea  voyage,  with 
a  medical  attendant  to  w\atch  his  diet,  and  contwol  his 
habits.  Well,  she  took  other  advice,  and  the  youth  is 
worse ;  so  now  she  is  fwightened,  and  a  month  ago  she 
asked  me  to  pwopose  to  you  to  sail  about  with  Tadcastah ; 
and  she  offered  me  a  thousand  pounds  a  year.  I  put  on 
my  stiff  look,  and  said,  '  Countess,  with  every  desiah  to 
oblige  you,  I  must  decline  to  cawwy  that  offali  to  a  man 
of  genius,  learning,  and  weputation,  who  has  the  ball  at 
his  feet  in  London.'  " 

"  Lord  forgive  you.  Lady  Cicely." 

"  Lord  bless  her  for  standing  up  for  my  Christie." 

Lady  Cicely  continued:    "Now,  this   good  lady,  you 


A   SIMPLETON".  205 

must  know,  is  not  exactly  one  of  us :  the  Late  carl 
mawwied  into  cotton,  or  wool,  or  something.  So  she 
said,  '  Xame  your  price  for  him.'  I  shwugged  my 
shoulders,  smiled  affably,  and  as  affectedly  as  you  like, 
and  changed  the  subject.  But  since  then  things  have 
happened.  I  am  afwaid  it  is  my  duty  to  make  you  the 
judge  whether  you  choose  to  sail  about  with  that  little 
cub  —  Eosa,  I  can  beat  about  the  bush  no  longer.  Is  it 
a  fit  thing  that  a  man  of  genius,  at  whose  feet  we  ought 
all  to  be  sitting  with  reverence,  should  drive  a  cab  in  the 
public  streets  ?  Yes,  Rosa  Staines,  your  husband  drives 
his  brougham  out  at  night,  not  to  visit  any  other  lady, 
as  that  anonymous  wretch  told  you,  but  to  make  a  few 
misewable  shillings  for  you." 

"  Oh,  Christie  ! '' 

"  It  is  no  use.  Dr.  Staines  ;  I  must  and  will  tell  her. 
My  dear,  he  di*ove  me  three  nights  ago.  He  had  a  cab- 
man's badge  on  his  poor  arm.  If  you  knew  what  I  suf- 
fered in  those  five  minutes  !  Indeed  it  seems  cruel  to 
speak  of  it  —  but  I  could  not  keep  it  from  Eosa,  and  the 
reason  I  muster  courage  to  say  it  before  you,  sir,  it  is 
because  I  know  she  has  other  friends  who  keep  you  out 
of  their  consultations  ;  and,  after  all,  it  is  the  world  that 
ought  to  blush,  and  not  you." 

Her  ladyship's  kindly  bosom  heaved,  and  she  wanted 
to  cry ;  so  she  took  her  handkerchief  out  of  her  pocket 
without  the  least  hurry,  and  pressed  it  delicately  to  her 
eyes,  and  did  cry  quietly,  but  without  any  disguise,  like 
a  brave  lady,  who  neither  cried  nor  did  anything  else 
she  was  ashamed  to  be  seen  at. 

As  for  Eosa,  she  sat  sobbing  round  Christopher's  neck, 
and  kissed  him  with  all  her  soul. 

"  Dear  me  I  "  said  Christopher.  "  You  are  both  very 
kind.  But,  begging  your  pardon,  it  is  much  ado  about 
nothing." 


206  A   SIMPLETON. 

Lady  Cicely  took  no  notice  of  tliat  observation.  "  So, 
Kosa  dear,"  said  she,  "  I  think  you  are  the  person  to 
decide  whether  he  had  not  better  sail  about  with  that 
little  cub,  than  — oh  ! " 

"  I  will  settle  that,"  said  Staines.  "  I  have  one  beloved 
creature  to  provide  for.  I  may  have  another.  I  must 
make  money.  Turning  a  brougham  into  a  cab,  w^hatever 
you  may  think,  is  an  honest  way  of  making  it,  and  I  am 
not  the  first  doctor  who  has  coined  his  brougham  at 
night.  But  if  there  is  a  good  deal  of  money  to  be  made 
by  sailing  with  Lord  Tadcaster,  of  course  I  should  prefer 
that  to  cab-driving,  for  I  have  never  made  above  twelve 
shillings  a  night." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that,  she  shall  give  you  fifteen  hundred  a 
year." 

"Then  I  jump  at  it." 

"  What !  and  leave  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  love :  leave  you  —  for  your  good  ;  and  only  for 
a  time.  Lady  Cicely,  it  is  a  noble  offer.  My  darling 
Eosa  will  have  every  comfort  —  ay,  every  luxury,  till  I 
come  home,  and  then  we  will  start  afresh  with  a  good 
balance,  and  with  more  experience  than  we  did  at  first." 

Lady  Cicely  gazed  on  him  with  wonder.  She  said, 
"  Oh !  what  stout  hearts  men  have  !  No,  no  ;  don't  let 
him  go.  See ;  he  is  acting.  His  great  heart  is  torn 
with  agony.  I  will  have  no  hand  in  parting  man  and 
wife — no,  not  for  a  day."  And  she  hurried  away  in 
rare  agitation. 

Eosa  fell  on  her  knees,  and  asked  Christopher's  pardon 
for  having  been  jealous  ;  and  that  day  she  was  a  flood  of 
divine  tenderness.  She  repaid  him  richly  for  driving 
the  cab.  But  she  was  unnaturally  cool  about  Lady 
Cicely  ;  and  the  exquisite  reason  soon  came  out.  "  Oh 
yes  !  She  is  very  good  ;  very  kind  ;  but  it  is  not  for  me 
now !  No  !  you  shall  not  sail  about  witli  her  cuIj  of  a 
cousin,  and  leave  me  at  such  a  time." 


A    SLMTLETON.  207 

Christopher  groaned. 

"Christie,  you  sliall  not  see  that  lady  again.  She 
came  liere  to  part  us.  Site  is  in  love  with  you.  I  was 
blind  nut  to  see  it  before." 

Next  day,  as  Lady  Cicely  sat  alone  in  the  morning- 
room  tliinking  over  this  very  scene,  a  footman  brouglit 
in  a  card  and  a  note.  "  Dr.  Staines  begs  particularly  to 
see  Lady  Cicely  Treherne." 

The  lady's  pale  cheek  colored ;  she  stood  irresolute  a 
single  moment.     "  I  will  see  Dr.  Staines,"  said  she. 

Dr.  Staines  came  in,  looking  pale  and  worn;  he  had 
not  slept  a  wink  since  she  saw  him  last. 

She  looked  at  him  full,  and  divined  this  at  a  glance. 
She  motioned  him  to  a  seat,  and  sat  down  herself,  with 
her  white  hand  pressing  her  forehead,  and  her  head 
turned  a  little  away  from  him. 


208  A   SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

He  told  her  tie  had.  come  to  thank  her  for  her  great 
kindness,  and  to  accept  the  offer. 

She  sighed.  "  I  hoped  it  was  to  decline  it.  Think  of 
the  misery  of  separation,  both  to  you  and  her." 

"  It  will  be  misery.  But  we  are  not  happy  as  it  is, 
and  she  cannot  bear  poverty,  ^or  is  it  fair  she  should, 
when  I  can  give  her  every  comfort  by  just  playing  the 
man  for  a  year  or  two."  He  then  told  Lady  Cicely  there 
were  more  reasons  than  he  chose  to  mention  :  go  he  must, 
and  would;  and  he  implored  her  not  to  let  the  affair 
drop.  In  short,  he  was  sad  but  resolved,  and  she  found 
she  must  go  on  Avith  it,  or  break  faith  with  him.  She 
took  her  desk,  and  wrote  a  letter  concluding  the  bargain 
for  him.  She  stipulated  for  half  the  year's  fee  in 
advance.     She  read  Dr.  Staines  the  letter. 

"  You  are  a  friend ! "  said  he.  "  I  should  never  have 
ventured  on  that ;  it  will  be  a  godsend  to  my  poor  Eosa. 
You  will  be  kind  to  her  when  I  am  gone  ?  " 

"I  will." 

"  So  will  Uncle  Philip,  I  think.  I  will  see  him  before 
I  go,  and  shake  hands.  He  has  been  a  good  friend  to 
me;  but  he  was  too  hard  upon  her;  and  I  could  not 
stand  that." 

Then  he  thanked  and  blessed  her  again,  with  the  tears 
in  his  eyes,  and  left  her  more  disturbed  and  tearful  than 
she  had  ever  been  since  she  grew  to  woman.  "  0  cruel 
poverty!"  she  thought,  "that  such  a  man  should  be 
torn  from  his  home,  and  thank  me  for  doing  it  —  all 
for  a  little  money  —  and  here  are  we  poor  commonplace 
creatures  rolling  in  it." 


A     SIMPLETON.  209 

Staines  hurried  home,  and  tohl  his  wife.  She  chmg 
to  him  convulsively,  and  wept  bitterly ;  but  she  made  no 
direct  attempt  to  shake  his  resolution ;  she  saw,  by  his 
iron  look,  that  she  could  only  afflict,  not  turn  him. 

Next  day  came  Lady  Cicely  to  see  her.  Lady  Cicely 
was  very  uneasy  in  her  mind,  and  wanted  to  know 
whether  Eosa  was  reconciled  to  the  separation. 

Eosa  received  her  with  a  forced  politeness  and  an  icy 
coldness  that  petrified  her.  She  could  not  stay  long  in 
face  of  such  a  reception.  At  parting,  she  said,  sadly, 
"You  look  on  me  as  an  enemy." 

"^\Tiat  else  can  you  expect,  when  you  part  my  husband 
and  me  ?  "  said  Eosa,  with  quiet  sternness. 

"  I  meant  well,"  said  Lady  Cicely  sorrowfully ;  "  but  I 
wish  I  had  never  interfered." 

"  So  do  I,"  and  she  began  to  cry. 

Lady  Cicely  made  no  answer.  She  went  quietly  away, 
hanging  her  head  sadly. 

Eosa  was  unjust,  but  she  was  not  rude  nor  vulgar; 
and  Lady  Cicely's  temper  was  so  well  governed  that  it 
never  blinded  her  heart.  She  withdrew,  but  without 
the  least  idea  of  quarrelling  with  her  afflicted  friend,  or 
abandoning  her.     She  went  quietly  home,  and  wrote  to 

Lady  ,  to  say  that  she  should  be  glad  to  receive 

Dr.  Staines's  advance  as  soon  as  convenient,  since  Mrs. 
Staines  would  have  to  make  fresh  arrangements,  and 
the  money  might  be  useful. 

The  money  was  forthcoming  directly.  Lady  Cicely 
brought  it  to  Dear  Street,  and  handed  it  to  Dr.  Staines. 
His  eyes  sparkled  at  the  sight  of  it. 

"  Give  my  love  to  Eosa,"  said  she  softly,  and  cut  her 
visit  very  short.  . 

Staines  took  the  money  to  Eosa,  and  said,  "  See  wliat 
our  best  friend  has  brought  us.     You  shall  have   four 
hundred,  and  I  hope,  after  the  bitter  lessons  you  have 
14 


210  A    SIMPLETON. 

had,  you  will  be  al)le  to  do  witli  tliat  for  some  months. 
The  two  hundred  I  shall  keep  as  a  reserve  fund  for  you 
to  draw  on." 

"No,  no!"  said  Eosa.  "I  shall  go  and  live  with  my 
father,  and  never  spend  a  penny.  0  Christie,  if  you 
knew  how  I  hate  myself  for  the  folly  that  is  parting  us ! 
Oh,  why  don't  they  teach  girls  sense  and  money,  instead 
of  music  and  the  globes  ?  " 

But  Christopher  opened  a  banking  account  for  her, 
and  gave  her  a  check -book,  and  entreated  her  to  pay 
everything  by  check,  and  run  no  bills  whatever;  and  she 
promised.  He  also  advertised  the  Bijou,  and  put  a  bill 
in  the  window :  "  The  lease  of  this  house,  and  the  furni- 
ture, to  be  sold." 

Kosa  cried  bitterly  at  sight  of  it,  thinking  how  high  in 
hope  they  were,  when  they  had  their  first  dinner  there, 
and  also  when  she  went  to  her  first  sale  to  buy  the  fur- 
niture cheap. 

And  now  everything  moved  with  terrible  rajjidity. 
Tlie  Amphitrite  was  to  sail  from  Plymouth  in  five  days ; 
and,  meantime,  there  was  so  much  to  be  done,  that  the 
days  seemed  to  gallop  away. 

Dr.  Staines  forgot  nothing.  He  made  his  will  in 
duplicate,  leaving  all  to  his  wife ;  he  left  one  copy  at 
Doctors'  Commons  and  another  with  his  lawyer ;  inven- 
toried all  his  furniture  and  effects  in  duplicate,  too; 
wrote  to  Uncle  Philip,  and  then  called  on  him  to  seek  a 
reconciliation.  Unfortunately,  Dr.  Philip  was  in  Scot- 
land. At  last  this  sad  pair  went  down  to  Plymouth 
together,  there  to  meet  Lord  Tadcaster  and  go  on  board 
PI. M.S.  Amphitrite,  lying  out  at  anchor,  under  orders  for 
the  Australian  Station. 

They  met  at  the  inn,  as  appointed ;  and  sent  word  of 
their  arrival  on  board  the  frigate,  asking  to  remain  on 
shore  till  the  last  minute. 


A   SIMPLETON.  211 

Dr.  Staines  presented  liis  patient  to  E/Osa;  and  after 
a  little  while  drew  him  apart  and  questioned  him  pro- 
fessionally. He  then  asked  for  a  private  room.  Here 
he  and  Kosa  really  took  leave ;  for  what  could  the  poor 
things  say  to  each  other  on  a  crowded  quay  ?  He  begged 
her  forgiveness,  on  his  knees,  for  having  once  spoken 
liarshly  to  her,  and  she  told  him,  with  passionate  sobs, 
he  had  never  spoken  harshly  to  her;  her  folly  it  was  had 
parted  them. 

Poor  wretches  !  they  clung  together  with  a  thousand 
vows  of  love  and  constancy.  They  were  to  pray  for  each 
other  at  the  same  hours  :  to  think  of  some  kind  word  or 
loving  act,  at  other  stated  hours ;  and  so  they  tried  to 
fight  with  their  suffering  minds  against  the  cruel  separa- 
tion ;  and  if  either  should  die,  the  other  was  to  live 
wedded  to  memory,  and  never  listen  to  love  from  other 
lips ;  but  no  !  God  was  pitiful ;  He  would  let  them  meet 
again  ere  long,  to  part  no  more.  They  rocked  in  each 
other's  arms  ;  they  cried  over  each  other  —  it  w^as  pitiful. 

At  last  the  cruel  summons  came ;  they  shuddered,  as 
if  it  was  their  death-blow.  Christopher,  with  a  face  of 
agony,  was  yet  himself,  and  would  have  parted  then : 
and  so  best.  But  Eosa  could  not.  She  would  see  the 
last  of  him,  and  became  almost  wild  and  violent  when 
he  opposed  it. 

Then  he  let  her  come  with  him  to  Milbay  Steps ;  but 
into  the  boat  he  would  not  let  her  step. 

The  ship's  boat  lay  at  the  steps,  manned  by  six  sailors, 
all  seated,  with  their  oars  tossed  in  two  vertical  rows.  A 
smart  middy  in  charge  conducted  them,  and  Dr.  Staines 
and  Lord  Tadcaster  got  in,  leaving  Kosa,  in  charge  of 
her  maid,  on  the  quay. 

"  Shove  off "  —  "  Down  "  —  "  Give  way." 

Each  order  was  executed  so  swiftly  and  surely  that,  in 
as  many  seconds,  the  boat  was  clear,  the  oars  struck  the 


212  A   SIMPLETON. 

water  with  a  loud  sj)lasli,  and  the  husband  was  shot 
away  like  an  arrow,  and  the  wife's  despairing  cry  rang 
on  the  stony  quay,  as  many  a  poor  woman's  cry  had  rung 
before. 

In  half  a  minute  the  boat  shot  under  the  stern  of  the 
frigate. 

They  were  received  on  the  quarter-deck  by  Captain 
Hamilton :  he  introduced  them  to  the  officers  —  a  torture 
to  poor  StaineS;  to  have  his  mind  taken  for  a  single 
instant  from  his  wife  —  the  first  lieutenant  came  aft, 
and  reported,  "Eeady  for  making  sail,  sir." 

Staines  seized  the  excuse,  rushed  to  the  other  side  of 
the  vessel,  leaned  over  the  taffrail,  as  if  he  Avould  fly 
ashore,  and  stretched  out  his  hands  to  his  beloved  Eosa ; 
and  she  stretched  out  her  hands  to  him.  They  were  so 
near,  he  could  read  the  expression  of  her  face.  It  was 
wild  and  troubled,  as  one  who  did  not  yet  realize  the 
terrible  situation,  but  would  not  be  long  first. 

'^  HaXDS  make  sail AWAY,  ALOFT UP  ANCHOR  "  — 

rang  in  Christopher's  ear,  as  if  in  a  dream.  All  his 
soul  and  senses  were  bent  on  that  desolate  young 
creature.  How  young  and  amazed  her  lovely  face !  Yet 
this  bewildered  child  was  about  to  become  a  mother. 
Even  a  stranger's  heart  might  have  yearned  with  pity 
for  her :  how  much  more  her  miserable  husband's  ! 

The  capstan  was  manned,  and  worked  to  a  merry  tune 
that  struck  chill  to  the  bereaved ;  yards  were  braced  for 
casting,  anchor  hove,  catted,  and  fished,  sail  was  spread 
with  amazing  swiftness,  the  ship's  head  dipped,  and 
slowly  and  gracefully  paid  off  towards  the  breakwater, 
and  she  stood  out  to  sea  under  swiftly-swelling  canvas 
and  a  light  north-westerly  breeze. 

Staines  only  felt  the  motion:  his  body  was  in  the 
ship,  his  soul  with  his  Eosa.  He  gazed,  he  strained  his 
eyes  to  see  her  eyes,  as  the  ship  glided  from  England 


A  SIMPLETON.  213 

and  her.  "Wliile  he  was  thus  gazint;  and  trembling  all 
over,  up  came  to  him  a  snuirt  second  lieutenant,  with  a 
brilliant  voice  that  struck  him  like  a  sword.  ^'Captain's 
orders  to  show  you  berths;  please  choose  for  Lord 
Tadcaster  and  yourself." 

The  man's  wild  answer  made  the  young  officer  stare. 
"  Oh,  sir !  not  now  —  try  and  do  my  duty  when  I  have 
quite  lost  her  —  my  poor  wife  —  a  child  —  a  mother  — 
there  —  sir  —  on  the  steps  —  there  !  —  there  ! " 

Now  this  officer  always  went  to  sea  singing  •'  Oh  be 
joyful."  But  a  strong  man's  agony,  who  can  make  light 
of  it  ?  It  was  a  revelation  to  him ;  but  he  took  it 
quickly.  The  first  thing  he  did,  being  a  man  of  action, 
was  to  dash  into  his  cabin,  and  come  back  with  a  short, 
powerful  double  glass.  "  There  !  "  said  he  roughly,  but 
kindly,  and  shoved  it  into  Staines's  hand.  He  took  it, 
stared  at  it  stupidly,  then  used  it,  without  a  word  of 
thanks,  so  wrapped  was  he  in  his  anguish. 

This  glass  prolonged  the  misery  of  that  bitter  hour. 
When  Eosa  could  no  longer  tell  her  husband  from  another, 
she  felt  he  was  really  gone,  and  she  threw  her  hands  aloft, 
and  clasped  them  above  her  head,  with  the  wild  abandon 
of  a  woman  Avho  could  never  again  be  a  child ;  and  Staines 
saw  it,  and  a  sharp  sigh  burst  from  him,  and  he  saw  her 
maid  and  others  gather  round  her.  He  saw  the  poor 
young  thing  led  away,  with  her  head  all  down,  as  lie  had 
never  seen  her  before,  and  supported  to  the  innj  and 
then  he  saw  her  no  more. 

His  heart  seemed  to  go  out  of  his  bosom  in  search  of 
her,  and  leave  nothing  but  a  stone  behind :  he  hung  over 
the  taffrail  like  a  dead  thing.  A  steady  foot-fall  slapped 
his  ear.  He  raised  his  white  face  and  filmy  eyes,  and 
saw  Lieutenant  Fitzroy  marching  to  and  fro  like  a  senti- 
nel, keeping  everybody  away  from  the  mourner,  with  the 
steady,  resolute,  business-like  face  of  a  man  in  whom 


214  A   SIMPLETON. 

sentiment  is  confined  to  action;  its  phrases  and  its 
flourishes  being  literally  terrou  incognita  to  the  honest 
fellow. 

Staines  staggered  towards  him,  holding  out  both  hands, 
and  gasped  out,  "  God  bless  you.  Hide  me  somewhere  — 
must  not  be  seen  50  —  got  duty  to  do  —  Patient  —  can't 
do  it  yet  —  one  hour  to  draw  my  breath — oh,  my  God, 
my  God  !  —  one  hour,  sir.  Then  do  my  duty,  if  I  die  — 
as  you  would." 

Fitzroy  tore  him  down  into  his  own  cabin,  shut  him  in 
and  ran  to  the  first  lieutenant,  with  a  tear  in  his  eye. 
"  Can  I  have  a  sentry,  sir  ?  " 

"  Sentry  !     What  for  ?  " 

"  The  doctor  —  awfully  cut  up  at  leaving  his  wife  :  got 
him  in  my  cabin.     Wants  to  have  his  cry  to  himself." 

"  Fancy  a  fellow  crying  at  going  to  sea ! " 

"  It  is  not  that,  sir ;  it  is  leaving  his  wife." 

"Well,  is  he  the  only  man  on  board  that  has  got  a 
wife  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  sir.  It  is  odd,  now  I  think  of  it.  Perhaps 
he  has  only  got  that  oneP 

"Curious  creatures,  landsmen,"  said  the  first  lieutenant. 
"  However,  you  can  stick  a  marine  there." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  I  say,  shoAV  the  youngster  the  berths,  and  let 
him  choose,  as  the  doctor's  aground." 

"Yes,  sir." 

So  Fitzoy  planted  his  marine,  and  then  went  after  Lord 
Tadcaster:  he  had  drawn  up  alongside  his  cousin, 
Captain  Hamilton.  The  captain,  being  an  admirer  of 
Lady  Cicely,  was  mighty  civil  to  his  little  lordship,  and 
talked  to  him  more  than  was  his  wont  on  the  quarter- 
deck ;  for  though  he  had  a  good  flow  of  conversation, 
and  dispensed  with  ceremony  in  his  cabin,  he  was  apt 
to  be   rather  short   on   deck.     However,  he  told  little 


A  SIMPLETON.  215 

Taclcaster  he  was  fortunate ;  they  had  a  good  start,  and, 
if  the  wind  held,  might  liope  to  be  clear  of  the  Channel 
in  twenty-four  hours.  "  You  will  see  Eddystone  light- 
house about  four  bells,"  said  he. 

^'  Shall  we  go  out  of  sight  of  land  altogether  ? " 
inquired  his  lordship. 

"  Of  course  we  shall,  and  the  sooner  the  better."  He 
then  explained  to  the  novice  that  the  only  danger  to  a 
good  ship  was  from  the  land. 

While  Tadcaster  was  digesting  this  paradox,  Captain 
Hamilton  proceeded  to  descant  on  the  beauties  of  blue 
water  and  its  fine  medicinal  qualities,  which,  he  said, 
were  particularly  suited  to  young  gentlemen  with  bilious 
stomachs,  but  j)resently,  catching  sight  of  Lieutenant 
Fitzroy  standing  apart,  but  with  the  manner  of  a  lieu- 
tenant not  there  by  accident,  he  stopped,  and  said,  civilly 
but  smartly,  "  Well,  sir  ?  " 

Fitzroy  came  forward  directly,  saluted,  and  said  he  had 
orders  from  the  first  lieutenant  to  show  Lord  Tadcaster 
the  berths.  His  lordship  must  be  good  enough  to  choose, 
because  the  doctor  —  couldn't. 

"Why  not?" 

"  Brought  to,  sir  —  for  the  present  —  by  —  well,  by 
grief." 

"  Brought  to  by  grief !  Who  the  deuce  is  grief  ?  No 
riddles  on  the  quarter-deck,  if.  you  please,  sir." 

"  Oh  no,  sir.  I  assure  you  he  is  awfully  cut  up ;  and 
he  is  having  his  cry  out  in  my  cabin." 

"  Having  his  cry  out !  why,  what  for  ?  " 

"  Leaving  his  wife,  sir." 

"Oh,  is  that  all?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  wonder,"  cried  little  Tadcaster  warmly. 
*'  She  is,  oh,  so  beautiful !  "  and  a  sudden  blush  o'erspread 
his  pasty  cheeks.  "  Why  on  earth  didn't  we  bring  her 
along  with  us  here  ? "  said  he,  suddenly  opening  his 
eyes  with  astonishment  at  the  childish  omission. 


216  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Why,  indeed  ?  "  said  the  captain  comically,  and  dived 
below,  attended  by  the  well-disciplined  laughter  of  Lieu- 
tenant Fitzroy,  who  was  too  good  an  officer  not  to  be 
amused  at  his  captain's  jokes.  Having  acquitted  him- 
self of  that  duty  —  and  it  is  a  very  difficult  one  some- 
times—  he  took  Lord  Tadcaster  to  the  main-deck,  and 
showed  him  two  comfortable  sleeping-berths  that  had 
been  screened  off  for  him  and  Dr.  Staines ;  one  of  these 
was  fitted  with  a  standing  bed-place,  the  other  had  a  cot 
swung  in  it.  Fitzroy  offered  him  the  choice,  but  hinted 
that  he  himself  preferred  a  cot. 

"  No,  thank  you,"  says  my  lord  mighty  dryly. 
"  All  right,"  said  Fitzroy  cheerfully.     "  Take  the  other, 
then,  my  lord." 

His  little  lordship  cocked  his  eye  like  a  jackdaw,  and 
looked  almost  as  cunning.     "  You  see,"  said  he,  "  I  have 
been  reading  up  for  this  voyage." 
"  Oh,  indeed  !     Logarithms  ? '' 
"  Of  course  not." 
"What  then?" 

"  Why,  '  Peter  Simple  '  —  to  be  sure." 
"Ah,  ha!"  said  Fitzroy,  with  a  chuckle  that  showed 
plainly  he  had  some  delicious  reminiscences  of  youthful 
stud}^  in  the  same  quarter. 

The  little  lord  chuckled  too,  and  put  one  finger  on 
Fitzroy's  shoulder,  and  pointed  at  the  cot  with  another. 
"  Tumble  out  the  other  side,  you  knoAV  —  slippery  hitches 
—  cords  cut  —  down  you  come  flop  in  the  middle  of  the 
night." 

Fitzroy's  eye  flashed  merriment:  but  only  for  a 
moment.  His  countenance  fell  the  next.  "  Lord  bless 
you,"  said  he  sorrowfully,  "  all  that  game  is  over  now. 
Her  Majesty's  ship  !  —  it  is  a  church  afloat.  The  service 
is  going  to  the  devil,  as  the  old  fogies  say." 

"  Ain't  you  sorry  ?  "  says  the  little  lord,  cocking  his 
eye  again  like  the  bird  hereinbefore  mentioned. 


A   SIMPLETON.  217 

"  Of  course  I  am." 

"Then  I'll  take  the  standing  bed." 

"  All  right.  I  say,  you  don't  mind  the  doctor  coming 
down  with  a  run,  eh  ?  " 

"  He  is  not  ill :  I  am.  He  is  paid  to  take  care  of  me : 
I  am  not  paid  to  take  care  of  him,"  said  the  young  lord 
sententiously. 

"I  understand,"  re^^lied  Fitzroy,  dryly.  "Well,  every 
one  for  himself,  and  Providence  for  us  all  —  as  the  ele- 
phant said  when  he  danced  among  the  chickens." 

Here  my  lord  was  summoned  to  dine  with  the  captain. 
Staines  was  not  there  ;  but  he  had  not  forgotten  his  duty ; 
in  the  midst  of  his  grief  he  had  written  a  note  to  the 
captain,  hoping  that  a  bereaved  husband  might  not  seem 
to  desert  his  post  if  he  hid  for  a  few  hours  the  sorrow 
he  felt  himself  unable  to  control.  jNIeantime  he  would 
be  grateful  if  Captain  Hamilton  would  give  orders  that 
Lord  Tadcaster  should  eat  no  pastry,  and  drink  only  six 
ounces  of  claret,  otherwise  he  should  feel  that  he  was 
indeed  betraying  his  trust. 

The  captain  was  pleased  and  touched  with  this  letter. 
It  recalled  to  him  how  his  mother  sobbed  when  she 
launched  her  little  middy,  swelling  with  his  first  cocked 
hat  and  dirk. 

There  was  champagne  at  dinner,  and  little  Tadcaster 
began  to  pour  out  a  tumbler.  "  Hold  on  ! "  said  Captain 
Hamilton  ;  "  you  are  not  to  drink  that ;  "  and  he  quietly 
removed  the  tumbler.     "  Bring  him  six  ounces  of  claret." 

While  they  were  weighing  the  claret  with  scientific 
precision,  Tadcaster  remonstrated  ;  and,  being  told  it  was 
the  doctor's  order,  he  squeaked  out,  "  Confound  liim  ! 
why  did  not  he  stay  with  his  wife  ?  She  is  beautiful." 
Nor  did  he  give  it  up  without  a  struggle.  "Here's  hos- 
pitality !  "  said  he.     "  Six  ounces  !  " 

Receiving  no  reply,  he  inquired  of  the  third  lieuten- 


218  A  SIMPLETON. 

ant,  which  Wcas  generally  considered  the  greatest  authority 
in  a  ship  —  the  captain,  or  the  doctor. 

The  third  lieutenant  answered  not,  but  turned  his  head 
away,  and,  by  violent  exertion,  succeeded  in  not  splitting. 

"  I'll  answer  that,''  said  Hamilton  politely.  "  The 
captain  is  the  highest  in  his  department,  and  the  doctor 
in  his  :  now  Doctor  Staines  is  strictly  within  his  depart- 
ment, and  will  be  supported  by  me  and  my  officers.  You 
are  bilious,  and  epileptical,  and  all  the  rest  of  it,  and 
you  are  to  be  cured  by  diet  and  blue  water." 

Tadcaster  was  inclined  to  snivel :  however,  he  subdued 
that  weakness  with  a  visible  effort,  and,  in  due  course, 
returned  to  the  charge.  "  How  would  you  look,"  qua- 
vered he,  "  if  there  was  to  be  a  mutiny  in  this  ship  of 
yours,  and  I  was  to  head  it  ? ' 

"  Well,  I  should  look  slimy  —  hang  all  the  ringleaders 
at  the  yardarm,  clap  the  rest  under  hatches,  and  steer 
for  the  nearest  prison." 

"  Oh ! "  said  Tadcaster,  and  digested  this  scheme  a 
bit.  At  last  he  perked  up  again,  and  made  his  final  hit. 
"  Well,  I  shouldn't  care,  for  one,  if  you  didn't  flog  us." 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Captain  Hamilton,  "  I'd  flog  yon 
—  and  sto^:)  your  six  ounces." 

"  Then  curse  the  sea ;  that  is  all  I  say." 

"  Why,  you  have  not  seen  it ;  you  have  only  seen  the 
British  Channel."  It  was  Mr.  Fitzroy  who  contributed 
this  last  observation. 

After  dinner  all  but  the  captain  went  on  deck,  and  saw 
the  Eddystone  lighthouse  ahead  and  to  leeward.  They 
passed  it.  Fitzroy  told  his  lordship  its  story,  and  that 
of  its  unfortunate  predecessors.  Soon  after  this  Lord 
Tadcaster  turned  in. 

Presently  the  captain  observed  a  change  in  the  ther- 
mometer, which  brought  him  on  deck.  He  scanned  the 
water  and  the  sky,  and  as  these  experienced  commanders 


A   SIMPLETON.  .  210 

have  a  subtle  insight  into  the  weather,  especially  in 
familiar  latitudes,  he  remarked  to  the  first  lieutenant 
that  it  looked  rather  unsettled  ;  and,  as  a  matter  of  pru- 
dence, ordered  a  reef  in  the  topsails,  and  the  royal  yards 
to  be  sent  down  :  ship  to  be  steered  W.  by  S.  This  done, 
he  turned  in,  but  told  them  to  call  him  if  there  was  any 
change  in  the  weather. 

During  the  night  the  wind  gradually  headed ;  and  at 
four  bells  in  the  middle  watch  a  heavy  squall  came  up 
from  the  south-west. 

This  brought  the  captain  on  deck  again  :  he  found  the 
officer  of  the  watch  at  his  post,  and  at  work.  Sail  was 
shortened,  and  the  ship  made  snug  for  heavy  weather. 

At  four  A.M.  it  was  blowing  hard,  and,  being  too  near 
the  French  coast,  they  wore  the  ship. 

Now,  this  operation  was  bad  for  little  Tadcaster. 
While  the  vessel  was  on  the  starboard  tack,  the  side  kept 
him  snug ;  but,  when  they  wore  her,  of  course  he  had 
no  leeboard  to  keep  him  in.  The  ship  gave  a  lee-lurch, 
and  shot  him  clean  out  of  his  bunk  into  the  middle  of 
the  cabin. 

He  shrieked  and  shrieked,  with  terror  and  pain,  till 
the  captain  and  Staines,  who  were  his  nearest  neighbors, 
came  to  him,  and  they  gave  him  a  little  brandy,  and  got 
him  to  bed  again.  Here  he  suffered  nothing  but  violent 
sea-sickness  for  sowre  hours. 

As  for  Staines,  he  had  been  swinging  heavily  in  his 
cot ;  but  such  was  his  mental  distress  that  he  would  have 
welcomed  sea-sickness,  or  any  reasonable  bodily  suffer- 
ing. He  was  in  that  state  when  the  sting  of  a  wasp  is 
a  touch  of  comfort. 

Worn  out  with  sickness,  Tadcaster  would  not  move. 
Invited  to  breakfast,  he  swore  faintly,  and  insisted  on 
dying  in  peace.  At  last  exhaustion  gave  him  a  sort  of 
sleep,  in  spite  of  the  motion,  which  was  violent,  for  it 


220  A   SIMrLETON. 

was  now  blowing  great  guns,  a  heavy  sea  on,  and  the 
great  waves  dirty  in  color  and  crested  with  raging  foam. 

They  had  to  wear  ship  again,  always  a  ticklish  manoeu- 
vre in  weather  like  this. 

A  tremendous  sea  struck  her  quarter,  stove  in  the  very 
port  abreast  of  which  the  little  lord  was  lying,  and 
washed  him  clean  out  of  bed  into  the  lee  scuppers,  and 
set  all  swimming  around  him. 

Didn't  he  yell,  and  wash  about  the  cabin,  and  grab  at 
all  the  chairs  and  tables  and  things  that  drifted  about, 
nimble  as  eels,  avoiding  his  grasp! 

In  rushed  the  captain,  and  in  staggered  Staines.  They 
stopped  his  "voyage  autour  de  sachambre,"  and  dragged 
him  into  the  after  saloon. 

He  clung  to  them  by  turns,  and  begged,  with  many 
tears,  to  be  put  on  the  nearest  land ;  a  rock  would  do. 

"  Much  obliged,"  said  the  caj)tain ;  "  now  is  the  very 
time  to  give  rocks  a  wide  berth." 

"A  dead  whale,  then —  a  lighthouse — anything  but  a 
beast  of  a  ship." 

They  pacified  him  with  a  little  brandy,  and  for  the 
next  twenty-four  hours  he  scarcely  opened  his  mouth, 
except  for  a  purpose  it  is  needless  to  dwell  on.  We  can 
trust  to  our  terrestrial  readers'  personal  reminiscences  of 
lee-lurches,  weather-rolls,  and  their  faithful  concomitant. 

At  last  they  wriggled  out  of  the  Channel,  and  soon 
after  that  the  wind  abated,  and  next  day  veered  round  to 
the  northward,  and  the  ship  sailed  almost  on  an  even 
keel.  The  motion  became  as  heavenly  as  it  had  been 
diabolical,  and  the  passengers  came  on  deck. 

Staines  had  suffered  one  whole  day  from  sea-sickness, 
but  never  complained.  I  believe  it  did  his  mind  more 
good  than  harm. 

As  for  Tadcaster,  he  continued  to  suffer,  at  intervals, 
for  two  days  more,  but  on  the  fifth  day  out  he  appeared 


A  SIMPLETON.  221 

with  a  little  pink  tinge  on  his  cheek  and  a  wolfish  appe- 
tite. Dr.  Staines  controlled  his  diet  severely,  as  to 
quality,  and,  when  they  had  been  at  sea  just  eleven 
days,  the  physician's  heavy  heart  was  not  a  little  liglit- 
ened  by  the  niai-vellous  change  in  him.  The  unthinking, 
who  believe  in  the  drug  system,  should  have  seen  what 
a  physician  can  do  with  air  and  food,  when  circumstances 
enable  him  to  enforce  the  diet  he  enjoins.  Money  will 
sometimes  buy  even  health,  if  you  avoid  drugs  entirelijy 
and  go  another  road. 

Little  Tadcaster  went  on  board,  pasty,  dim-eyed,  and 
very  subject  to  fits,  because  his  stomach  was  constantly 
overloaded  with  indigestible  trash,  and  the  blood  in  his 
brain-vessels  was  always  either  galloping  or  creeping, 
under  the  first  or  second  effect  of  stimulants  adminis- 
tered, at  first,  by  thoughtless  physicians.  Behold  him 
now — bronzed,  pinky,  bright-eyed,  elastic;  and  only 
one  fit  in  twelve  days. 

The  quarter-deck  was  hailed  from  the  "  look-out "  with 
a  cry  that  is  sometimes  terrible,  but  in  this  latitude  and 
weather  welcome  and  exciting.     "  Land,  ho  !  " 

"  Where  away  ?  "  cried  the  officer  of  the  watch. 

"  A  point  on  the  lee-bow,  sir." 

It  was  the  island  of  Madeira  :  they  dropped  anchor  in 
Funchal  Eoads,  furled  sails,  squared  yards,  and  fired  a 
salute  of  twenty-one  guns  for  the  Portuguese  flag. 

They  went  ashore,  and  found  a  good  hotel,  and  were 
no  longer  dosed,  as  in  former  days,  with  oil,  onions,  gar- 
lic, eggs.    But  the  wine  queer,  and  no  madeira  to  be  got. 

Staines  wrote  home  to  his  wife :  he  told  her  how 
deeply  he  had  felt  the  bereavement ;  but  did  not  dwell 
on  that;  his  object  being  to  cheer  her.  He  told  her  it 
promised  to  be  a  rapid  and  wonderful  cure,  and  one  that 
might  very  well  give  him  a  fresh  start  in  London.  They 
need  not  be  parted  a  whole  year,  he  thought.     He  sent 


222  A   SIMPLETON. 

her  a  very  long  letter,  and  also  such  extracts  from  his 
sea  journal  as  he  thought  might  please  her.  After  clin-= 
ner  they  inspected  the  town,  and  Y\^hat  struck  them  most 
was  to  find  the  streets  paved  with  flag-stones,  and  most 
of  the  carts  drawn  by  bullocks  on  sledges.  A  man 
every  now  and  then  would  run.  forward  and  drop  a  greasy 
cloth  in  front  of  the  sledge,  to  lubricate  the  Avay. 

Next  day,  after  breakfast,  they  ordered  horses ;  these 
on  inspection,  proved  to  be  of  excellent  breed,  either 
from  Australia  or  America  —  very  rough  shod,  for  the 
stony  roads.  Started  for  the  Grand  Canal  —  peeped 
down  that  mighty  chasm,  which  has  the  a2:)pearance  of 
an  immense  mass  having  been  blown  out  of  the  centre 
of  the  mountain. 

They  lunched  under  the  great  dragon  tree  near  its 
brink,  then  rode  back  admiring  the  bold  mountain 
scenery.  Next  morning  at  dawn;  rode  on  horses  up 
the  hill  to  the  convent.  Admired  the  beautiful  gardens 
on  the  way.  Remained  a  short  time ;  then  came  down 
in  hand-sleighs  —  little  baskets  slung  on  sledges,  guided 
by  two  natives;  these  sledges  run  down  the  hill  with 
surprising  rapidity,  and  the  men  guide  them  round  cor- 
ners by  sticking  out  a  foot  to  port  or  starboard. 

Embarked  at  11.30  a.m. 

At  1.30,  the  men  having  dined,  the  ship  was  got  under 
way  for  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  all  sail  made  for  a 
southerly  course,  to  get  into  the  north-east  trades. 

The  weather  was  now  balmy  and  delightful,  and  so 
genial  that  everybody  lived  on  deck,  and  could  hardly 
be  got  to  turn  in  to  their  cabins,  even  for  sleep. 

Dr.  Staines  became  a  favorite  with  the  officers.  There 
is  a  great  deal  of  science  on  board  a  modern  ship  of  war, 
and,  of  course,  on  some  points  Staines,  a  Cambridge 
wrangler,  and  a  man  of  many  sciences  and  books,  was 
an  oracle.     On  others  he  was  quite  behind,  but  a  ready 


A   SIMPLETON.  223 

and  quick  pupil.  He  made  up  to  the  navigating  officer, 
and  learned,  with  his  help,  to  take  observations.  In 
return  he  was  always  at  any  youngster's  service  in  a 
trigonometrical  problem ;  and  he  amused  the  midshipmen 
and  young  lieutenants  with  analytical  tests ;  some  of 
these  were  applicable  to  certain  liquids  dispensed  by  the 
paymaster.  Under  one  of  them  the  port  wine  assumed 
some  very  droll  colors  and  appearances  not  proper  to 
grape-juice. 

One  lovely  night  that  the  ship  clove  the  dark  sea  into 
a  blaze  of  phosphorescence,  and  her  wake  streamed  like 
a  comet's  tail,  a  waggish  middy  got  a  bucketful  hoisted 
on  deck,  and  asked  the  doctor  to  analyze  that.  He  did 
not  much  like  it,  but  yielded  to  the  general  request; 
and  by  dividing  it  into  smaller  vessels,  and  dropping 
in  various  chemicals,  made  rainbows  and  silvery  flames 
and  what  not.  But  he  declined  to  repeat  the  experi- 
ment :  "  No,  no ;  once  is  philosophy ;  twice  is  cruelty. 
I've  slain  more  than  Samson  already." 

As  for  Tadcaster,  science  had  no  charms  for  him; 
but  fiction  had ;  and  he  got  it  galore ;  for  he  cruised 
about  the  forecastle,  and  there  the  quartermasters  and 
old  seamen  spun  him  yarns  that  held  him  breathless. 

But  one  day  my  lord  had  a  fit  on  the  quarter-deck, 
and  a  bad  one ;  and  Staines  found  him  smelling  strong 
of  rum.  He  represented  this  to  Captain  Hamilton.  The 
captain  caused  strict  inquiries  to  be  made,  and  it  came 
out  that  my  lord  had  gone  among  the  men,  with  money 
in  both  pockets,  and  bought  a  little  of  one  man's  grog, 
and  a  little  of  another,  and  had  been  sipping  the  furtive 
but  transient  joys  of  solitary  intoxication. 

Captain  Hamilton  talked  to  him  seriously ;  told  him 
it  was  suicide. 

"  Never  mind,  old  boy,"  said  the  young  monkey ;  ^'  a 
short  life  and  a  merry  one." 


224  A    SIMPLETON. 

Then  Hamilton  represented  that  it  was  very  ungentle- 
manlike  to  go  and  tempt  poor  Jack  with  his  money,  to 
offend  discipline,  and  get  flogged.  "  How  will  you  feel, 
Tadcaster,  when  you  see  their  backs  bleeding  under  the 
cat  ?  " 

"Oh,  d n  it  all,  George,  don't  do  that,"  says  the 

young  gentleman,  all  in  a  hurry. 

Then  the  commander  saw  he  had  touched  the  right 
chord.  So  he  played  on  it,  till  he  got  Lord  Tadcaster  to 
pledge  his  honor  not  to  do  it  again. 

The  little  fellow  gave  the  pledge,  but  relieved  his 
mind  as  follows :  "  But  it  is  a  cursed  tyrannical  hole, 
this  tiresome  old  ship.  You  can't  do  what  you  like 
in  it." 

"  Well,  but  no  more  you  can  in  the  grave  :  and  that  is 
the  agreeable  residence  you  were  hurrying  to  but  for  this 
tiresome  old  ship." 

"  Lord  !  no  more  you  can,"  said  Tadcaster,  with  sudden 
candor.     ^^  I  forgot  tliat.^^ 

The  airs  were  very  light;  the  ship  hardly  moved.  It 
was  beginning  to  get  dull,  when  one  day  a  sail  was 
sighted  on  the  weather-bow,  standing  to  the  eastward: 
on  nearing  her,  she  was  seen,  by  the  cut  of  her  sails,  to 
be  a  man-of-war,  evidently  homeward  bound :  so  Captain 
Hamilton  ordered  the  main-royal  to  be  lowered  (to  ren- 
der signal  more  visible)  and  the  "demand"  hoisted. 
No  notice  being  taken  of  this,  a  gun  was  fired  to  draw 
her  attention  to  the  signal.  This  had  the  desired  effect ; 
down  went  her  main-royal,  up  went  her  "number." 
On  referring  to  the  signal  book,  she  proved  to  be  the 
Vindictive  from  the  Pacific  Station. 

This  being  ascertained.  Captain  Hamilton,  being  that 
captain's  senior,  signalled  "  Close  and  prepare  to  receive 
letters."  In  obedience  to  this  she  bore  up,  ran  down,  and 
rounded  to ;  the  sail  in  the  Amphitrite  was  also  short- 


A   SIMPLETON.  225 

ened,  the  niainto})sail  laid  to  tlie  mast,  and  a  boat  low- 
ered. The  captain  having  finished  his  despatches,  they, 
with  the  letter-bags,  were  handed  into  the  boat,  which 
shoved  off,  pulled  to  the  lee  side  of  the  Vindictive,  and 
left  the  despatches,  with  Captain  Hamilton's  compli- 
ments. On  its  return,  both  ships  made  sail  on  their 
respective  course,  exchanging  "  bon  voyage  "  by  signal, 
and  soon  the  upper  sails  of  the  homeward-bounder  were 
seen  dipping  below  the  horizon :  longing  eyes  followed 
her  on  board  the  Amphitrite. 

How  many  hurried  missives  had  been  written  and  de- 
spatched in  that  half-hour.  But  as  for  Staines,  he  was  a 
man  of  forethought,  and  had  a  volume  ready  for  his  dear 
wife. 

Lord  Tadcaster  wrote  to  Lady  Cicely  Treherne.  His 
epistle,  though  brief,  contained  a  plum  or  two. 

He  wrote  :  "  What  with  sailing,  and  fishing,  and  eating 
nothing  but  roast  meat,  I'm  quite  another  man." 

This  amused  her  ladyship  a  little,  but  not  so  much  as 
the  postscript,  which  was  indeed  the  neatest  thing  in  its 
way  she  had  met  with,  and  she  had  some  experience,  too. 

"P.S.  —  I  say,  Cicely,  I  think  I  should  like  to  marry 
you.     Would  you  mind  ?  " 

Let  us  defy  time  and  space  to  give  you  Lady  Cicely's 
reply:  "I  should  enjoy  it  of  all  things,  Taddy.  But, 
alas  !  I  am  too  young." 

N.B.  —  She  was  twenty-seven,  and  Tad  sixteen.  To 
be  sure,  Tad  was  four  feet  eleven,  and  she  Avas  only  five 
feet  six  and  a  half. 

To  return  to  my  narrative  (with  apologies),  this  meet- 
ing of  the  vessels  caused  a  very  agreeable  excitement 
that  day  ;  but  a  greater  was  in  store.  In  the  afternoon, 
Tadcaster,  Staines,  and  the  principal  officers  of  the  ship, 
being  at  dinner  in  the  captain's  cabin,  in  came  the  officer  of 
the  watch,  and  reported  a  large  spar  on  the  weather-bow. 


226  A   SIMPLETON. 

"Well,  close  it,  if  you  can;  and  let  me  know  if  it 
looks  worth  picking  up." 

He  then  explained  to  Lord  Tadcaster  that,  on  a  cruise, 
he  never  liked  to  pass  a  spar,  or  anything  that  might 
possibly  reveal  the  fate  of  some  vessel  or  other. 

In  the  middle  of  his  discourse  the  officer  came  in 
again,  but  not  in  the  same  cool  business  way :  he  ran  in 
excitedly,  and  said,  "  Captain,  the  signalman  reports  it 
alive  !  " 

"Alive  ?  — a  spar  !  What  do  you  mean  ?  Something 
alive  on  it,  eh  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  alive  itself." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  Hail  him  again.  Ask  him  what 
it  is." 

The  officer  went  out,  and  hailed  the  signalman  at  the 
mast-head.     "  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Sea-sarpint,  I  think." 

This  hail  reached  the  captain's  ears  faintly.  However, 
he  waited  quietly  till  the  officer  came  in  and  reported  it ; 
then  he  burst  out,  "Absurd!  there  is  no  such  creature 
in  the  universe.  What  do  you  say,  Dr.  Staines  ?  —  It  is 
in  your  department." 

"  The  universe  in  my  department,  captain  ?  " 

"  Haw  !  haw !  haw  ! "  went  Fitzroy  and  two  more. 

"No,  you  rogue,  the  serpent." 

Dr.  Staines,  thus  appealed  to,  asked  the  captain  if  he 
had  ever  seen  small  snakes  out  at  sea. 

"Why,  of  course.  Sailed  through  a  mile  of  them 
once,  in  the  archipelago." 

"  Sure  they  were  snakes  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure  ;  and  the  biggest  was  not  eight  feet  long." 

"Very  well,  captain;  then  sea-serpents  exist,  and  it 
becomes  a  mere  question  of  size.  Now  which  produces 
the  larger  animals  in  every  kind,  —  land  or  sea  ?  The 
grown  elephant  weighs,  I  believe,  about  five  tons.     The 


A    SIMPLETON.  227 

very  smallest  of  the  whale  tribe  weighs  ten ;  and  they 
go  as  high  as  forty  tons.  There  are  smaller  fish  than 
the  whale,  that  are  four  times  as  heavy  as  the  elephant. 
Why  doubt,  then,  that  the  sea  can  breed  a  snake  to 
eclipse  the  boa-constrictor?  Even  if  the  creature  had 
never  been  seen,  I  should,  by  mere  reasoning  from  anal- 
ogy, expect  the  sea  to  produce  a  serpent  excelling  the 
boa-constrictor,  as  the  lobster  excels  a  crayfish  of  our 
rivers:  see  how  large  things  grow  at  sea!  the  salmon 
born  in  our  rivers  weighs  in  six  months  a  quarter  of  a 
pound,  or  less ;  it  goes  out  to  sea,  and  comes  back  in  one 
year  weighing  seven  pounds.  So  far  from  doubting  the 
large  sea-serpents,  I  believe  they  exist  by  the  million. 
The  only  thing  that  puzzles  me  is,  why  they  should  evei 
show  a  nose  above  water ;  they  must  be  very  numerous, 
I  think." 

Captain  Hamilton  laughed,  and  said,  "Well,  this  is 
new.  Doctor,  in  compliment  to  your  opinion,  we  will  go 
on  deck,  and  inspect  the  rex)tile  you  think  so  common." 
He  stopped  at  the  door,  and  said,  "  Doctor,  the  saltcellar 
is  by  you.  Would  you  mind  bringing  it  on  deck  ?  We 
shall  want  a  little  to  secure  the  animal." 

So  they  all  went  on  deck  right  merrily. 

The  captain  went  up  a  few  ratlines  in  the  mizzen 
rigging,  and  looked  to  windward,  laughing  all  the  time  : 
but,  all  of  a  sudden,  there  was  a  great  change  in  his 
manner.     "  Good  heavens,  it  is  alive  —  Luff  !  " 

The  helmsman  obeyed ;  the  news  spread  like  wildfire. 
Mess  kids,  grog  kids,  pipes,  were  all  let  fall,  and  some 
three  hundred  sailors  clustered  on  the  rigging  like  bees, 
to  view  the  long-talked-of  monster. 

It  was  soon  discovered  to  be  moving  lazily  along,  the 
propelling  part  being  under  water,  and  about  twenty-five 
feet  visible.  It  had  a  small  head  for  so  large  a  body, 
and,  as  they  got  nearer,  rough  scales  were  seen,  ending 


228  A   SIMPLETON. 

in  smaller  ones  further  down  tlie  body.  It  had  a  mane, 
but  not  like  a  lion's,  as  some  have  pretended.  If  you 
have  ever  seen  a  pony  with  a  hog-mane,  that  was  more 
the  character  of  this  creature's  mane,  if  mane  it  was. 

They  got  within  a  hundred  yards  of  it,  and  all  saw  it 
plainly,  scarce  believing  their  senses. 

When  they  could  get  no  nearer  for  the  wind,  the  cap- 
tain yielded  to  that  instinct  which  urges  man  always  to 
kill  a  curiosity,  "to  encourage  the  rest,"  as  saith  the 
witty  Voltaire.  "Get  ready  a  gun  —  best  shot  in  the 
ship  lay  and  fire  it." 

This  was  soon  done.  Bang  went  the  gun.  The  shot 
struck  the  water  close  to  the  brute,  and  may  have  struck 
him  under  water,  for  aught  I  know.  Any  way,  it  sorely 
disturbed  him ;  for  he  reared  into  the  air  a  column  of 
serpent's  flesh  that  looked  as  thick  as  the  maintopmast 
of  a  seventy-four,  opened  a  mouth  that  looked  capacious 
enough  to  swallow  the  largest  buoy  anchor  in  the  ship, 
and,  with  a  strange  grating  noise  between  a  bark  and  a 
hiss,  dived,  and  was  seen  no  more. 

When  he  was  gone,  they  all  looked  at  one  another  like 
men  awaking  from  a  dream. 

Staines  alone  took  it  quite  coolly.  It  did  not  surprise 
him  in  the  least.  He  had  always  thought  it  incredible 
that  the  boa-constrictor  should  be  larger  than  any  sea- 
snake.  That  idea  struck  him  as  monstrous  and  absurd. 
He  noted  the  sea-serpent  in  his  journal,  but  with  this 
doubt,  "  Semble  —  more  like  a  very  large  eel." 

Next  day  they  crossed  the  line.  Just  before  noon  a 
young  gentleman  burst  into  Staines's  cabin,  apologizing 
for  want  of  ceremony ;  but  if  Dr.  Staines  would  like  to 
see  the  line,  it  was  now  in  sight  from  the  mizzentop. 

"Glad  of  it,  sir,"  said  Staines;  "collect  it  for  me  in 
the  ship's  buckets,  if  you  please  I  want  to  send  a  line 
to  friends  at  home." 


A  SIMPLETON.  229 

Young  gentleman  buried  liis  liantls  in  liis  pockets, 
walked  out  in  solemn  silence,  and  resumed  his  position 
on  the  lee-side  of  the  quarter-deck. 

Kevertheless,  this  opening,  coupled  with  what  he  had 
heard  and  read,  made  Staines  a  little  uneasy,  and  he 
went  to  his  friend  Fitzroy,  and  said,  "  Now,  look  here  : 
/  am  at  the  service  of  you  experienced  and  humorous 
mariners.  I  plead  guilty  at  once  to  the  crime  of  never 
having  passed  the  line  ;  so,  make  ready  your  swabs,  and 
lather  me  ;  your  ship's  scraper,  and  shave  me ;  and  let  us 
iret  it  over.  But  Lord  Tadcaster  is  nervous,  sensitive, 
prouder  than  he  seems,  and  I'm  not  going  to  have  him 
driven  into  a  fit  for  all  the  Xeptunes  and  Amphitrites  in 
creation." 

Fitzroy  heard  him  out,  then  burst  out  laughing.  "  Why, 
there  is  none  of  that  game  in  the  Royal  Xa\y,"  said  he. 
''  Hasn't  been  this  twent}^  years." 

"  I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Dr.  Staines.  *'  If  there's  a  form 
of  wit  I  revere,  it  is  practical  joking." 

''  Doctor,  you  are  a  satirical  beggar." 

Staines  told  Tadcaster,  and  he  went  forward  and  chaffed 
his  friend  the  quartermaster,  who  was  one  of  the  fore- 
castle wits. 

"  I  say,  quartermaster,  why  doesn't  Neptune  come  on 
board  ?  " 

Dead  silence. 

"  I  wonder  what  has  become  of  poor  old  Nep  ?  " 

"  Gone  ashore  ! "  growled  the  seaman.  "  Last  seen  in 
Eatcliff  Highway.  Got  a  shop  there  — lends  a  shilling 
in  the  pound  on  seamen's  advance  tickets." 

"  Oh  !  and  Amphitrite  ?  " 

*'  Married  the  sexton  at  AYapping." 

"  And  the  Nereids  ?  " 

^'  Neruds  ! "  (scratching  his  head.)  "  I  liarn't  kept  my 
eye  on  them  small  craft.  But  I  believe  they  are  selling 
oysters  in  the  port  of  Leith." 


230  A   SIMPLETON. 

A  liglit  breeze  carried  them  across  tlie  equator;  but 
soon  after  tlioy  got  becalmed,  and  it  was  dreary  work, 
and  the  ship  rolled  gently,  but  continuously,  and  upset 
Lord  Tadcaster's  stomach  again,  and  quenched  his  manly 
spirit. 

At  last  they  were  fortunate  enough  to  catch  the  south- 
east trade,  but  it  was  so  languid  at  first  that  the  ship 
barely  moved  through  the  water,  though  they  set  every 
stitch,  and  studding  sails  alow  and  aloft,  till  really  she 
was  acres  of  canvas. 

While  she  was  so  creeping  along,  a  man  in  the  mizzen- 
top  noticed  an  enormous  shark  gliding  steadily  in  her 
wake.  This  may  seem  a  small  incident,  yet  it  ran  through 
the  ship  like  wildfire,  and  caused  more  or  less  uneasiness 
in  three  hundred  stout  hearts ;  so  near  is  every  seaman 
to  death,  and  so  strong  the  persuasion  in  their  supersti- 
tious minds,  that  a  shark  does  not  follow  a  ship  perti- 
naciously without  a  prophetic  instinct  of  calamity. 

Uiifortunately,  the  quartermaster  conveyed  this  idea  to 
Lord  Tadcaster,  and  confirmed  it  by  numerous  examples 
to  prove  that  there  was  always  death  at  hand  when  a 
shark  followed  the  ship. 

Thereupon  Tadcaster  took  it  into  his  head  that  he  was 
under  a  relapse,  and  the  shark  was  waiting  for  his  dead 
body  :  he  got  quite  low-spirited. 

Staines  told  Fitzroy.  Fitzroy  said,  "  Shark  be  hanged ! 
I'll  have  him  on  deck  in  half  an  hour."  He  got  leave 
from  the  captain :  a  hook  was  baited  Avith  a  large  piece 
of  pork,  and  towed  astern  by  a  stout  line,  experienced 
old  hands  attending  to  it  by  turns. 

The  shark  came  up  leisurely,  surveyed  the  bait,  and,  I 
apprehend,  ascertained  the  position  of  the  hook.  At  all 
events,  he  turned  quietly  on  his  back,  sucked  the  bait  oft', 
and  retired  to  enjoy  it. 

Every  officer  in  the  ship  tried  him  in  turn,  but  with- 


A    SIMPLETON.  231 

out  success;  for,  if  thoy  got  ready  for  him,  and,  the 
moment  he  took  the  bait,  jerked  the  rope  hard,  in  that 
case  he  opened  his  enormous  mouth  so  wi(h^  that  the 
bait  and  hook  came  out  clear.  But,  sooner  or  Liter,  he 
always  got  the  bait,  and  left  his  captors  the  hook. 

This  went  on  for  days,  and  his  huge  dorsal  fin  always 
in  the  ship's  wake. 

Then  Tadcaster,  who  had  watched  these  experiments 
with  hope,  lost  his  spirit  and  appetite. 

Staines  reasoned  with  him,  but  in  vain.  Somebody 
was  to  die ;  and,  although  there  were  three  hundred  and 
more  in  the  ship,  he  must  be  the  one.  At  last  he  actu- 
ally made  his  will,  and  threw  himself  into  Staines's  arms, 
and  gave  him  messages  to  his  mother  and  Lady  Cicely ; 
and  ended  by  frightening  himself  into  a  fit. 

This  roused  Staines's  pity,  and  also  put  him  on  his 
mettle.     What,  science  be  beaten  by  a  shark  ! 

He  pondered  the  matter  with  all  his  might ;  and  at 
last  an  idea  came  to  him. 

He  asked  the  captain's  permission  to  try  his  hand.  This 
was  accorded  immediately,  and  the  ship's  stores  placed  at 
his  disposal  very  politely,  but  with  a  sly,  comical  grin. 

Dr.  Staines  got  from  the  carpenter  some  sheets  of  zinc 
and  spare  copper,  and  some  flannel:  these  he  cut  into 
three-inch  squares,  and  soaked  the  flannel  in  acidulated 
water.  He  then  procured  a  quantity  of  bell-wire,  the 
greater  part  of  which  he  insulated  by  wrapping  it  round 
with  hot  gutta  percha.  So  eager  was  he,  that  he  did  not 
turn  in  all  night. 

In  the  morning  he  prepared  what  he  called  an  electric 
fuse  —  he  filled  a  soda-water  bottle  with  gunpowder, 
attaching  some  cork  to  make  it  buoyant,  put  in  the  fuse 
and  bung,  made  it  water-tight,  connected  and  insulated 
his  main  wires  —  enveloped  the  bottle  in  pork  —  tied  a 
line  to  it,  and  let  the  bottle  overboard. 


232  A   SIMPLETON. 

The  captain  and  officers  shook  their  heads  mysteriously. 
Tlie  tars  peeped  and  grinned  from  every  rope  to  see  a 
doctor  try  and  catch  a  shark  with  a  soda-water  bottle 
and  no  hook ;  but  somehow  the  doctor  seemed  to  know 
what  he  was  about,  so  they  hovered  round,  and  awaited 
the  result,  mystified,  but  curious,  and  showing  their 
teeth  from  ear  to  ear. 

"  The  only  thing  I  fear,"  said  Staines,  "  is  that,  the 
moment  he  takes  the  bait,  he  will  cut  the  wire  before  I 
can  complete  the  circuit,  and  fire  the  fuse." 

Nevertheless,  there  was  another  objection  to  the  success 
of  the  experiment.     The  shark  had  disappeared. 

"Well,"  said  the  captain,  "at  all  events,  you  have 
frightened  him  away." 

»'  No,"  said  little  Tadcaster,  white  as  a  ghost ;  "  he  is 
only  under  water,  I  know;  waiting  —  waiting." 

"  There  he  is,"  cried  one  in  the  ratlines. 

There  was  a  rush  to  the  taffrail  —  great  excitement. 

"  Keep  clear  of  me,"  said  Staines  quietly  but  firmly. 
"  It  can  only  be  done  at  the  moment  before  he  cuts  the 
wire." 

The  old  shark  swam  slowly  round  the  bait. 

He  saw  it  was  something  new. 

He  swam  round  and  round  it. 

"  He  won't  take  it,"  said  one. 

"He  suspects  something." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  will  take  the  meat  somehow,  and  leave 
the  pepper.     Sly  old  fox  ! " 

"  He  has  eaten  many  a  poor  Jack,  that  one." 

The  shark  turned  slowly  on  his  back,  and,  instead  of 
grabbing  at  the  bait,  seemed  to  draw  it  by  gentle  suction 
into  that  capacious  throat,  ready  to  blow  it  out  in  a 
moment  if  it  was  not  all  right. 

The  moment  the  bait  was  drawn  out  of  sight,  Staines 
completed  the  circuit  j  the  bottle  exploded  with  a  fury 


A  SIMPLETON.  233 

that  surprised  him  and  everybody  who  saw  it ;  a  ton  of 
water  flew  into  the  air,  and  came  down  in  spray,  and  a 
gory  carcass  floated,  belly  uppermost,  visibly  staining 
the  blue  water. 

There  was  a  roar  of  amazement  and  applause. 

The  carcass  was  towed  alongside,  at  Tadcaster's  urgent 
request,  and  then  the  power  of  the  explosion  was  seen. 
Confined,  first  by  the  bottle,  then  by  the  meat,  then  by 
the  fish,  and  lastly  by  the  water,  it  had  exploded  with 
tenfold  power,  had  blown  the  brute's  head  into  a  million 
atoms,  and  had  even  torn  a  great  furrow  in  its  carcass, 
exposing  three  feet  of  the  backbone. 

Taddy  gloated  on  his  enemy,  and  began  to  pick  up 
again  from  that  hour. 

The  wind  improved,  and,  as  usual  in  that  latitude, 
scarcely  varied  a  point.  They  had  a  pleasant  time, — 
private  theatricals  and  other  amusements  till  they  got 
to  latitude  26°  S.  and  longitude  27'  W.  Then  the  trade 
wind  deserted  them.    Light  and  variable  winds  succeeded. 

The  master  complained  of  the  chronometers,  and  the 
captain  thought  it  his  duty  to  verify  or  correct  them; 
and  so  shaped  his  course  for  the  island  of  Tristan 
d'Acunha,  then  lying  a  little  way  out  of  his  course.  I 
ought,  perhaps,  to  explain  to  the  general  reader  that  tlie 
exact  position  of  this  island  being  long  ago  established 
and  recorded,  it  was  an  infallible  guide  to  go  by  in  veri- 
fying a  ship's  chronometers. 

Next  day  the  glass  fell  all  day,  and  the  captain  said 
he  should  double-reef  topsails  at  nightfall,  for  something 
was  brewing. 

The  weather,  however,  was  fine,  and  the  ship  was 
sailing  very  fast,  when,  about  half  an  hour  before  sunset, 
the  mast-head  man  hailed  that  there  was  a  bulk  of  timber 
in  sight,  broad  on  the  weather-bow. 

The  signalman  was  sent  up,  and  said  it  looked  like  a 
raft. 


234  A   SIMPLETON. 

The  captain,  who  was  on  deck,  levelled  his  glass  at  it, 
and  made  it  out  a  raft,  with  a  sort  of  rail  to  it,  and  the 
stump  of  a  mast. 

He  ordered  the  officer  of  the  watch  to  keep  the  ship 
as  close  to  the  wind  as  possible.  He  should  like  to 
examine  it  if  he  could. 

The  master  represented,  respectfully,  that  it  would  be 
unadvisable  to  beat  to  windward  for  that.  "  I  have  no 
faith  in  our  chronometers,  sir,  and  it  is  important  to 
make  the  island  before  dark;  fogs  rise  here  so  suddenly.'^ 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Bolt ;  then  I  suppose  we  must  let  the 
raft  go." 

*'  Man  on  the  raft  to  windward  ! "  hailed  the 
signalman. 

This  electrified  the  ship.  The  captain  ran  up  the 
mizzen  rigging,  and  scanned  the  raft,  now  nearly  abeam. 

"  It  is  a  man ! "  he  cried,  and  was  about  to  alter  the 
ship's  course  when,  at  that  moment,  the  signalman  hailed 
again,  — 

^'It  js  a  corpse." 

"  How  d'ye  know  ?  " 

"By  the  gulls." 

Then  succeeded  an  exciting  dialogue  between  the 
captain  and  the  master,  who,  being  in  his  department, 
was  very  firm ;  and  went  so  far  as  to  say  he  would  not 
answer  for  the  safety  of  the  ship,  if  they  did  not  sight 
the  land  before  dark. 

The  captain  said,  "Very  well,"  and  took  a  turn  or  two. 
But  at  last  he  said,  "  No.  Her  Majesty's  ship  must  not 
pass  a  raft  with  a  man  on  it,  dead  or  alive." 

He  then  began  to  give  the  necessary  orders ;  but  before 
they  were  all  out  of  his  mouth,  a  fatal  interruption 
occurred. 

Tadcaster  ran  into  Dr.  Staines's  cabin,  crying,  "  A  raft 
with  a  corpse  close  by  ! " 


A   SIMPLETON.  235 

Staines  sprang  to  tht^  (quarter  port  to  see,  and  craning 
eagerly  out,  the  lower  port  chain,  which  had  not  been 
well  secured,  slipped,  the  port  gave  way,  and  as  his 
whole  weight  rested  on  it,  canted  him  headlong  into  tlie 
sea. 

A  smart  seaman  in  the  forechains  saw  the  accident, 
and  instantly  roared  out,  "  Man  overboard  ! "  a  cry  that 
sends  a  thrill  through  a  ship's  very  ribs. 

Another  smart  fellow  cut  the  life-buoy  adrift  so  quickly 
that  it  struck  the  water  within  ten  yards  of  Staines. 

The  officer  of  the  watch,  without  the  interval  of  half  a 
moment,  gave  the  right  orders,  in  the  voice  of  a  stentor : 

"Let  go  life-buoy. 

"  Life-boat's  crew  away. 

"  Hands  shorten  sail. 

"  Mainsel  up. 

"  Main  tops  el  to  mast." 

These  orders  were  executed  with  admirable  swiftness. 
Meantime  there  was  a  mighty  rush  of  feet  throughout 
the  frigate,  every  hatchway  was  crammed  with  men  eager 
to  force  their  w^ay  on  deck. 

In  five  seconds  the  middy  of  the  watch  and  half 
her  crew  were  in  the  lee  cutter,  fitted  with  Clifford's 
apparatus. 

"  Lower  away  ! ''  cried  the  excited  officer ;  "  the  others 
will  come  down  by  the  pendants.'' 

The  man  stationed,  sitting  on  the  bottom  boards,  eased 
away  roundly,  when  suddenly  there  was  a  hitch  —  the 
boat  would  go  no  farther. 

"Lower  away  there  in  the  cutter!  Why  don't  you 
lower  ?  "  screamed  the  captain,  who  had  come  over  to 
leeward  expecting  to  see  the  boat  in  the  water. 

"The  rope  has  swollen,  sir,  and  the  pendants  won't 
unreeve,"  cried  the  middy  in  agony. 

"  Volunteers  for  the  weather-boat ! "  shouted  the  first 


236  A   SIMPLETON. 

lieutenant ;  but  the  order  was  unnecessary,  for  more  tlian 
the  proper  number  were  in  her  already. 

"  Plug  in  —  lower  away." 

But  mishaps  never  come  singly.  Scarcely  had  this 
boat  gone  a  foot  from  the  davit,  than  the  volunteer  who 
was  acting  as  coxswain,  in  reaching  out  for  something, 
inadvertently  let  go  the  line,  which,  in  Kynaston's  appa- 
ratus, keeps  the  tackles  hooked ;  consequently,  down 
went  the  boat  and  crew  twenty  feet,  with  a  terrific  crash ; 
the  men  were  struggling  for  their  lives,  and  the  boat  was 
stove. 

But,  meantime,  more  men  having  been  sent  into  the 
lee  cutter,  their  weight  caused  the  pendants  to  render, 
and  the  boat  got  afloat,  and  was  soon  employed  picking 
up  the  struggling  crew. 

Seeing  this.  Lieutenant  Fitzroy  collected  some  hands, 
and  lowered  the  life-boat  gig,  which  Avas  fitted  with 
common  tackles,  got  down  into  her  himself  by  the  falls, 
and  pulling  round  to  windward,  shouted  to  the  signalman 
for  directions. 

The  signalman  was  at  his  post,  and  had  fixed  his  eye 
on  the  man  overboard,  as  his  duty  Avas ;  but  his  mess- 
mate was  in  the  stove  boat,  and  he  had  cast  one  anxious 
look  down  to  see  if  he  was  saved,  and,  sad  to  relate,  in 
that  one  moment  he  had  lost  sight  of  Staines  ;  the  sudden 
darkness  —  there  was  no  twilight  —  confused  him  more, 
and  the  ship  had  increased  her  drift. 

Fitzroy,  however,  made  a  rapid  calculation,  and  pulled 
to  windward  with  all  his  might.  He  was  followed  in 
about  a  minute  by  the  other  sound  boat  powerfully 
manned,  and  both  boats  melted  away  into  the  night. 

There  was  a  long  and  anxious  suspense,  during  which 
it  became  pitch  dark,  and  the  ship  burned  blue  lights  to 
mark  her  position  more  plainly  to  the  crews  that  were 
groping  the  sea  for  that  beloved  passenger. 


A   SIMPLETON.  1337 

Captain  Hamilton  had  no  doubt  that  the  fate  of  Staines 
was  decided,  one  way  or  other,  long  before  this ;  but  he 
kept  quiet  until  he  saw  the  plain  signs  of  a  squall  at 
hand.  Then,  as  he  was  responsible  for  the  safety  of 
boats  and  ship,  he  sent  up  rockets  to  recall  them. 

The  cutter  came  alongside  first.  Lights  were  poured 
on  her,  and  quavering  voices  asked,  "Have  you  got 
him  ?  " 

The  answer  was  dead  silence,  and  sorrowful,  drooping 
heads. 

Sadly  and  reluctantly  was  the  order  given  to  hoist  the 
boat  in. 

Then  the  gig  came  alongside.  Fitzroy  seated  in  her, 
with  his  hands  before  his  face ;  the  men  gloomy  and  sad. 

"Goxe!  Gone!" 

Soon  the  ship  was  battling  a  heavy  squall. 

At  midnight  all  quiet  again,  and  hove  to.  Then,  at 
the  request  of  many,  the  bell  was  tolled,  and  the  ship's 
company  mustered  bareheaded,  and  many  a  stout  seaman 
in  tears,  as  the  last  service  was  read  for  Christopher 
SUiines. 


238  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Rosa  fell  ill  with  grief  at  tlie  hotel,  and  could  not 
move  for  some  days ;  but  the  moment  she  was  strong 
enough,  she  insisted  on  leaving  Plymouth:  like  all 
wounded  things,  she  must  drag  herself  home. 

But  what  a  home !  How  empty  it  struck,  and  she 
heart-sick  and  desolate.  Now  all  the  familiar  places 
wore  a  new  aspect:  the  little  yard,  where  he  had  so 
walked  and  waited,  became  a  temple  to  her,  and  she 
came  out  and  sat  in  it,  and  now  first  felt  to  the  full  how 
much  he  had  suffered  there  —  with  what  fortitude.  She 
crept  about  the  house,  and  kissed  the  chair  he  had  sat 
in,  and  every  much-used  place  and  thing  of  the  departed. 

Her  shallow  nature  deepened  and  deepened  under  this 
bereavement,  of  which,  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  shud- 
der, she  was  the  cause.  And  this  is  the  course  of  nature ; 
there  is  nothing  like  suffering  to  enlighten  the  giddy- 
brain,  widen  the  narrow  mind,  improve  the  trivial  heart. 

As  her  regrets  were  tender  and  deep,  so  her  vows  of 
repentance  were  sincere.  Oh,  what  a  wife  she  would 
make  when  he  came  back !  how  thoughtful !  how  pru- 
dent !  how  loyal !  and  never  have  a  secret.  She  who  had 
once  said,  "What  is  the  use  of  your  writing?  nobody 
will  publish  it,"  now  collected  and  perused  every  written 
scrap.  With  simple  affection  she  even  locked  up  his 
very  waste-paper  basket,  full  of  fragments  he  had  torn, 
or  useless  papers  he  had  thrown  there,  before  he  went  to 
Plymouth. 

In  the  drawer  of  his  writing-table  she  found  his  diary. 
It  was  a  thick  quarto :  it  began  with  their  marriage,  and 


A    SIMPLETON.  239 

ended  with  his  leaving  home  —  for  then  he  took  another 
vohime.  This  diary  became  lier  Bilde  ;  she  studied  it 
daily,  till  her  tears  hid  his  lines.  The  entries  were  very 
miscellaneous,  very  exact;  it  was  a  map  of  their  married 
life.  But  what  she  studied  most  was  his  observations 
on  her  own  character,  so  scientific,  yet  so  kindly  ;  and 
his  scholar-like  and  wise  reflections.  The  book  was  an 
unconscious  picture  of  a  great  mind  she  had  hitliert(j 
but  glanced  at :  now  she  saw  it  all  plain  before  her ; 
saw  it,  understood  it,  adored  it,  mourned  it.  Such  women 
are  shallow,  not  for  want  of  a  head  upon  their  shoulders, 
but  of  attention.  They  do  not  really  study  anything : 
they  have  been  taught  at  their  schools  the  bad  art  of 
skimming ;  but  let  their  hearts  compel  their  brains  to 
think  and  think,  the  result  is  considerable.  The  deepest 
philosopher  never  fathomed  a  character  more  thoroughl}^ 
than  this  poor  child  fathomed  her  philosopher,  when 
she  had  read  his  journal  ten  or  eleven  times,  and  bedewed 
it  with  a  thousand  tears. 

One  passage  almost  cut  her  more  intelligent  heart  in 
twain :  — 

"  This  dark  day  I  have  done  a  thing  incredible.  I 
have  spoken  with  brutal  harshness  to  the  innocent 
creature  I  have  sworn  to  protect.  She  had  run  in  debt, 
through  inexperience,  and  that  unhappy  timidity  which 
makes  women  conceal  an  error  till  it  ramifies,  by  con- 
cealment, into  a  fault ;  and  I  must  storm  and  rave  at 
her,  till  she  actually  fainted  away.  Brute !  Euffian ! 
Monster  !  And  she,  how  did  she  punish  me,  poor  lamb  ? 
By  soft  and  tender  words  —  like  a  lady,  as  she  is.  Oh, 
my  sweet  Eosa,  I  wish  you  could  know  how  you  are 
avenged.  Talk  of  the  scourge  —  the  cat !  I  would  be 
thankful  for  two  dozen  lashes.  Ah!  there  is  no  need, 
I  think,  to  punish  a  man  who  has  been  cruel  to  a  woman. 
Let  him  alone.  He  will  punish  himself  more  than  you 
can,  if  he  is  really  a  man." 


240  A   SIMPLETON. 

From  the  date  of  that  entry,  this  self-reproach  and 
self-torture  kept  cropping  up  every  now  and  then  in  the 
diary ;  and  it  appeared  to  have  been  not  entirely  without 
its  influence  in  sending  Staines  to  sea,  though  the  main 
reason  he  gave  was  that  his  Eosa  might  have  the  com- 
forts and  luxuries  she  had  enjoyed  before  she  married 
him.  * 

One  day,  while  she  was  crying  over  this  diary,  Uncle 
Philip  called ;  but  not  to  comfort  her,  I  promise  you. 
He  burst  on  her,  irate,  to  take  her  to  task.  He  had 
returned,  learned  Christopher's  departure,  and  settled 
the  reason  in  his  own  mind :  that  uxorious  fool  was  gone 
to  sea  by  a  natural  reaction ;  his  eyes  were  open  to  his 
wife  at  last,  and  he  was  sick  of  her  folly ;  so  he  had  fled 
to  distant  climes,  as  who  would  not,  that  could  ? 

"  So,  ma'am,"  said  he,  "  my  nephew  is  gone  to  sea, 
I  find  —  all  in  a  hurry.  Pray  may  I  ask  what  he  has 
done  that  for  ?  " 

It  was  a  very  simple  question,  yet  it  did  not  elicit 
a  very  plain  answer.  She  only  stared  at  this  abrupt 
inquisitor,  and  then  cried,  piteously,  "  Oh,  Uncle  Philip ! " 
and  burst  out  sobbing. 

"AVhy,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"You  tvill  hate  me  now.  He  is  gone  to  make  money 
for  vie  ;  and  I  would  rather  have  lived  on  a  crust.  Uncle 
—  don't  hate  me.  I'm  a  poor,  bereaved,  heart-broken 
creature,  that  repents." 

"  Repents  !  heigho !  why,  what  have  you  been  up  to 
now,  ma'am  ?  No  great  harm,  I'll  be  bound.  Flirting 
a  little  with  some  fool  —  eh  ?  " 

"  Flirting !     Me  !  a  married  woman." 

"Oh,  to  be  sure;  I  forgot.  Why,  surely  he  has  not 
deserted  you." 

"  My  Christopher  desert  me  !  He  loves  me  too  well ; 
far  more  than  I  deserve  j   but  not  more  than   I  will. 


A   SIMPLETON.  241 

Uncle  Pliilip,  I  am  too  confused  and  wretched  to  tell 
you  all  tluit  has  lia})i)eut'd ;  but  I  know  you  love  liini, 
though  you  had  a  titt":  uncle,  he  called  on  you,  to  shake 
hands  and  ask  your  forgiveness,  poor  fellow !  He  was 
so  sorry  you  were  away.  Please  read  his  dear  diary : 
it  will  tell  you  all,  better  than  his  poor  foolish  wife  can, 
I  know  it  by  heart.  I'll  show  you  where  you  and  he 
quarrelled  about  me.  There,  see."  And  she  showed  him 
the  passage  with  her  finger.  "  He  never  told  me  it  was 
that,  or  I  would  have  come  and  begged  your  pardon  on 
my  knees.  But  see  how  sorry  he  was.  There,  see. 
And  now  I'll  show  j^ou  another  place,  where  my  Chris- 
topher speaks  of  your  many,  many  acts  of  kindness. 
There,  see.  And  now  please  let  me  show  you  how  he 
longed  for  reconciliation.  There,  see.  And  it  is  the 
same  through  the  book.  And  now  I'll  show  you  how 
grieved  he  was  to  go  without  your  blessing.  I  told  him 
I  was  sure  you  would  give  him  that,  and  him  going 
away.  Ah,  me  !  will  he  ever  return  ?  Uncle  dear,  don't 
hate  me.  "What  shall  I  do,  now  he  is  gone,  if  you  disown 
me  ?     WTiy,  you  are  the  only  Staines  left  me  to  love." 

"  Disown  you,  ma'am  !  that  I'll  never  do.  You  are  a 
good-hearted  young  woman,  I  find.  There,  run  and  dry 
your  eyes ;  and  let  me  read  Christopher's  diary  all 
through.     Then  I  shall  see  how  the  land  lies." 

Rosa  complied  with  his  proposal ;  and  left  him  alone 
while  she  bathed  her  eyes,  and  tried  to  compose  herself, 
for  she  was  all  trembling  at  this  sudden  irruption. 

When  she  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  he  was  walk- 
ing about,  looking  grave  and  thoughtful. 

"  It  is  the  old  story,"  said  he,  rather  gently  :  "  a  m  is- 
under standing.  How  wise  our  ancestors  were  that  first 
used  that  word  to  mean  a  quarrel!  for,  look  into  twenty 
quarrels,  and  you  shall  detect  a  score  of  mis-under-stand- 
ings.  Yet  our  American  cousins  must  go  and  substitute 
16 


242  A   SIMPLETON. 

the  un-ideaecl  word  ^  difficulty ; '  tliat  is  wonderful.  I 
head  no  quarrel  with  him :  delighted  to  see  either  of  you. 
But  I  had  called  twice  on  him ;  so  I  thought  he  ought  to 
get  over  his  temper,  and  call  on  a  tried  friend  like  me. 
A  misunderstanding !  Now,  my  dear,  let  us  have  no 
more  of  these  misunderstandings.  You  will  always  be 
Avelcome  at  my  house,  and  I  shall  often  come  here  and 
look  after  you  and  your  interests.  What  do  you  mean 
to  do,  I  wonder  ?  ^' 

"  Sir,  I  am  to  go  home  to  my  father,  if  he  will  be 
troubled  with  me.     I  have  written  to  him." 

"And  what  is  to  become  of  the  Bijou  ?" 

"  My  Christie  thought  I  should  like  to  part  with  it,  and 
the  furniture  —  but  his  own  writing-desk  and  his  chair, 
no,  I  never  will,  and  his  little  clock.  Oh !  oh !  oh !  — 
But  I  remember  what  you  said  about  agents,  and  I  don't 
know  what  to  do ;  for  I  shall  be  away." 

"  Then,  leave  it  to  me.  I'll  come  and  live  here  with 
one  servant ;  and  I'll  soon  sell  it  for  you." 

"  You,  Uncle  Philip  !  " 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  "  said  he  roughly. 

"  That  will  be  a  great  trouble  and  discomfort  to  you, 
I'm  afraid." 

"  If  I  find  it  so,.  I'll  soon  drop  it.  I'm  not  the  fool  to 
put  myself  out  for  anybody.  When  you  are  ready  to  go 
out,  send  me  word,  and  I'll  come  in." 

Soon  after  this  he  bustled  off.  He  gave  her  a  sort  of 
hurried  kiss  at  parting,  as  if  he  was  ashamed  of  it,  and 
wanted  it  over  as  quickly  as  possible. 

Next  day  her  father  came,  condoled  with  her  politely, 
assured  her  there  was  nothing  to  cry  about ;  husbands 
were  a  sort  of  functionaries  that  generally  went  to  sea 
at  some  part  of  their  career,  and  no  harm  ever  came  of 
it.  On  the  contrary,  "Absence  makes  the  heart  grow 
fonder,"  said  this  judicious  parent. 


A   SlMrLKTON.  243 

This  sentiment  happened  to  be  just  a  little  too  true, 
and  set  the  daughter  crying  bitterly.  But  she  fought 
against  it.  "  Oh  no  !  "  said  she,  "  I  mustnH.  I  will  not 
be  always  crying  in  Kent  Villa." 

"  Lord  forbid ! " 

"  I  shall  get  over  it  in  time  —  a  little." 

"  Why,  of  course  you  will.  But  as  to  your  coming  to 
Kent  Villa,  I  am  afraid  you  would  not  be  very  comfort- 
able there.  You  know  I  am  superannuated.  Only  got 
my  pension  now." 

"  I  know  that,  papa :  and  —  why,  that  is  one  of  the 
reasons.  I  have  a  good  income  now ;  and  I  thought  if 
we  put  our  means  together  "  — 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  very  different  thing.  You  will  want  a 
carriage,  I  suppose.     I  have  put  mine  down." 

"  No  carriage ;  no  horse ;  no  footman ;  no  luxury  of 
any  kind  till  my  Christie  comes  back.  I  abhor  dress  ;  I 
abhor  expense  ;  I  loathe  everything  I  once  liked  too  well ; 
I  detest  every  folly  that  has  parted  us ;  and  I  hate  my- 
self worst  of  all.  Oh  !  oh  !  oh  !  Forgive  me  for  crying 
so." 

"Well,  I  dare  say  there  are  associations  about  this 
place  that  upset  you.  I  shall  go  and  make  ready  for 
you,  dear ;  and  then  you  can  come  as  soon  as  you  like." 

He  bestowed  a  paternal  kiss  on  her  brow,  and  glided 
doucely  away  before  she  could  possibly  cry  again. 

The  very  next  week  Eosa  was  at  Kent  Villa,  with  the 
relics  of  her  husband  about  her ;  his  chair,  his  writing- 
table,  his  clock,  his  waste-paper  basket,  a  very  deep  and 
large  one.  She  had  them  all  in  her  bedroom  at  Kent 
Villa. 

Here  the  days  glided  quietly  but  heavily. 

She  derived  some  comfort  from  Uncle  Philip.  His 
rough,  friendly  way  was  a  tonic,  and  braced  her.  He 
called  several  times  about  the  Bijou.     Told  her  he  had 


244  A   SIMPLETON. 

put  up  enormous  boards  all  over  tlie  house,  and  puffed  it 
finely.  "  I  have  had  a  hundred  agents  at  me/'  said  he  ; 
"  and  the  next  thing,  I  hope,  will  be  one  customer ;  that 
is  about  the  proportion."  At  last  he  wrote  her  he  had 
hooked  a  victim,  and  sold  the  lease  and  furniture  for 
nine  hundred  guineas.  Staines  had  assigned  the  lease  to 
E-osa,  so  she  had  full  powers ;  and  Philip  invested  the 
money,  and  two  hundred  more  she  gave  him,  in  a  little 
mortgage  at  six  per  cent. 

Now  came  the  letter  from  Madeira.  It  gave  her  new 
life.  Christopher  was  well,  contented,  hox^eful.  His 
example  should  animate  her.  She  would  bravely  bear 
the  present,  and  share  his  hopes  of  the  future :  with 
these  brighter  views  Nature  co-operated.  The  instincts 
of  approaching  maternity  brightened  the  future.  She 
fell  into  gentle  reveries,  and  saw  her  husband  return, 
and  saw  herself  place  their  infant  in  his  arms  with  all  a 
wife's,  a  mother's  pride. 

In  due  course  came  another  long  letter  from  the  equa- 
tor, with  a  full  journal,  and  more  words  of  hope.  Home 
in  less  than  a  year,  with  reputation  increased  by  this 
last  cure  ;  home,  to  part  no  more. 

Ah !  what  a  changed  wife  he  should  find !  how  frugal, 
how  candid,  how  full  of  appreciation,  admiration,  and 
love,  of  the  noblest,  dearest  husband  that  ever  breathed ! 

Lady  Cicely  Treherne  waited  some  weeks,  to  let 
kinder  sentiments  return.  She  then  called  in  Dear 
Street,  but  found  Mrs.  Staines  was  gone  to  Gravesend. 
She  wrote  to  her. 

In  a  few  days  she  received  a  reply,  studiously  polite 
and  cold. 

This  persistent  injustice  mortified  her  at  last.  She 
said  to  herself,  "  Does  she  think  his  departure  was  no  loss 
to  me?  It  was  to  her  interests,  as  well  as  his,  I  sacri- 
ficed my  own  selfish  wishes.     I  will  write  to  her  no  more." 


A   SIMPLETON.  245 

Tliis  resolution  she  steadily  maintained.  It  was 
shaken  for  a  moment,  wlien  she  Inward,  by  a  side  wind, 
that  iNIrs.  Staines  was  fast  approaching  the  great  pain 
and  peril  of  women.  Then  she  wavered.  But  no.  She 
l)rayed  for  her  by  name  in  the  Liturgy,  but  she  troubled 
her  no  more. 

This  state  of  things  lasted  some  six  weeks,  when  she 
received  a  letter  from  her  cousin  Tadcaster,  close  on  the 
heels  of  his  last,  to  which  she  had  replied  as  I  have  in- 
dicated. She  knew  his  handwriting,  and  opened  it  with 
a  smile. 

That  smile  soon  died  off  her  horror-stricken  face.  The 
letter  ran  thus  :  — 

Tristan  d'Acunha,  Jan.  5. 

Dear  Cicely, — A  terrible  thing  has  just  happened.  We 
signalled  a  raft,  with  a  body  on  it,  and  poor  Dr.  Staines  leaned 
out  of  the  port^hole,  and  fell  overboard.  Three  boats  were  let 
down  after  him  ;  but  it  all  went  wrong,  somehow,  or  it  was  too 
late.  They  could  never  find  him,  he  was  drowned ;  and  the 
funeral  service  was  read  for  the  poor  fellow. 

We  are  all  sadly  cut  up.  Everybody  loved  him.  It  was 
dreadful  next  day  at  dinner,  when  his  chair  was  empty.  The 
very  sailors  cried  at  not  finding  him. 

First  of  all,  I  thought  I  ought  to  write  to  his  wife.  I  know 
where  she  lives ;  it  is  called  Kent  Villa,  Gravesend.  But  I 
was  afraid  ;  it  might  kill  her :  and  you  are  so  good  and  sensi- 
l)le,  I  thought  I  had  better  write  to  you,  and  perhaps  you  could 
break  it  to  her  by  degrees,  before  it  gets  in  all  the  papers. 

I  send  this  from  the  island,  by  a  small  vessel,  and  paid  him 
ten  pounds  to  take  it. 

Your  affectionate  cousin, 

Tadcaster. 

Words  are  powerless  to  describe  a  blow  like  this  :  the 
amazement,  the  stupor,  the  reluctance  to  believe  —  the 
rising,  swelling,  surging  horror.  She  sat  like  a  woman 
of  stone,  crumpling  the  letter.     "  Dead  !  —  dead  ?  " 


246  A   SIMPLETON. 

For  a  long  time  tliis  was  all  lier  mind  could  realize  — 
that  Cliristoi)lier  Staines  was  dead.  He  who  had  been 
so  full  of  life  and  thought  and  genius,  and  worthier  to 
live  than  all  the  world,  was  dead ;  and  a  million  no- 
bodies were  still  alive,  and  he  was  dead. 

She  lay  back  on  the  sofa,  and  all  the  power  left  her 
limbs.     She  could  not  move  a  hand. 

But  suddenly  she  started  up  ;  for  a  noble  instinct  told 
her  this  blow  must  not  fall  on  the  wife  as  it  had  on  her, 
and  in  her  time  of  peril. 

She  had  her  bonnet  on  in  a  moment,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life,  darted  out  of  the  house  without  her 
maid.  She  flew  along  the  streets,  scarcely  feeling  the 
ground.  She  got  to  Dear  Street,  and  obtained  Philip 
Staines's  address.  She  flew  to  it,  and  there  learned  he 
was  down  at  Kent  Villa.  Instantly  she  telegraphed  to 
her  maid  to  come  down  to  her  at  Gravesend,  with  things 
for  a  short  visit,  and  wait  for  her  at  the  station ;  and  she 
went  down  by  train  to  Gravesend. 

Hitherto  she  had  walked  on  air,  driven  by  one  over- 
powering impulse.  JSTow,  as  she  sat  in  the  train,  she 
thought  a  little  of  herself.  What  was  before  her  ?  To 
break  to  Mrs.  Staines  that  her  husband  was  dead.  To 
tell  her  all  her  misgivings  were  more  than  justified. 
To  encounter  her  cold  civility,  and  let  her  know,  inch  by 
inch,  it  must  be  exchanged  for  curses  and  tearing  of 
hair ;  her  husband  was  dead.  To  tell  her  this,  and  in 
the  telling  of  it,  perhaps  reveal  that  it  was  her  great 
bereavement,  as  well  as  the  wife's,  for  she  had  a  deeper 
affection  for  him  than  she  ought. 

Well,  she  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf,  trembled  like 
one  in  an  ague,  even  as  she  sat.     But  she  persevered. 

A  noble  woman  has  her  courage ;  not  exactly  the  same 
as  that  which  leads  forlorn  hopes  against  bastions 
bristling  with  rifles  and  tongued  with  flames  and 
thunderbolts ;  yet  not  inferior  to  it. 


A   SIMPLETON.  247 

Tadcaster,  small  and  dull,  but  nolde  by  birth  and 
instinct,  had  seen  the  right  thing  for  her  to  do  ;  and  she, 
of  the  same  breed,  and  nobler  far,  had  seen  it  too ;  and 
the  great  soul  steadily  drew  the  recoiling  heart  and 
quivering  body  to  this  fiery  trial,  this  act  of  humanity  — 
to  do  which  was  terrible  and  hard,  to  shirk  it,  cowardly 
and  cruel. 

She  reached  Gravesend,  and  drove  in  a  fly  to  Kent 

Villa. 

The  door  was  opened  by  a  maid. 

"  Is  Mrs.  Staines  at  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  she  is  at  home  :  but  —  " 

"  Can  I  see  her  ?  " 

"  Why,  no,  ma'am,  not  at  present." 

"But  I  must  see  her.  I  am  an  old  friend.  Please 
take  her  my  card.     Lady  Cicely  Treherne." 

The  maid  hesitated,  and  looked  confused.  "  Perhaps 
.you  don't  know,  ma'am.  Mrs.  Staines,  she  is  —  the 
doctor  have  been  in  the  house  all  day." 

"Ah,  the  doctor!  I  believe  Dr.  Philip  Staines  is 
here." 

"  A^Tiy,  that  is  the  doctor,  ma'am.     Yes,  he  is  here." 

"  Then,  pray  let  me  see  him  —  or  no ;  I  had  better  see 
Mr.  Lusignan." 

"Master  have  gone  out  for  the  day,  ma'am;  but  if 
you'll  step  in  the  drawing-room,  I'll  tell  the  doctor."  ^ 

Lady  Cicely  waited  in  the  drawing-room  some  time, 
heart-sick  and  trembling. 

At  last  Dr.  Philip  came  in,  with  her  card  in  his  hand, 
looking  evidently  a  little  cross  at  the  interruption. 
"Now,  madam,  please  tell  me,  as  briefly  as  you  can, 
what  I  can  do  for  you." 

"  Are  you  Dr.  Philip  Staines  ?  " 

"I  am,  madam,  at  your  service  —  for  five  minutes. 
Can't  quit  my  patient  long,  just  now." 


248  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Oh,  sir,  thank  God  I  have  found  you.  Be  prepared 
for  ill  news  —  sad  news  —  a  terrible  calamity  —  I  can't 
speak.  Eead  that,  sir."  And  she  handed  him  Tadcaster's 
note. 

He  took  it,  and  read  it. 

He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands.  "  Christopher  !  my 
poor,  poor  boy !  "  he  groaned.  But  suddenly  a  terrible 
anxiety  seized  him.     "  Who  knows  of  this  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Only  myself,  sir.     I  came  here  to  break  it  to  her." 

"  You  are  a  good,  kind  lady,  for  being  so  thoughtful. 
Madam,  if  this  gets  to  my  niece's  ears,  it  will  kill  her, 
as  sure  as  we  stand  here." 

"  Then  let  us  keep  it  from  her.  Command  me,  sir. 
I  will  do  anything.  I  will  live  here  —  take  the  letters 
in  —  the  journals  —  anything." 

"  No,  no  ;  you  have  done  your  part,  and  God  bless  you 
for  it.  You  must  not  stay  here.  Your  ladyship's  very 
presence,  and  your  agitation,  would  set  the  servants 
talking,  and  some  idiot-fiend  among  them  babbling  — 
there  is  nothing  so  terrible  as  a  fool." 

"May  I  remain  at  the  inn,  sir;  just  one  night  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I  wish  you  would ;  and  I  will  run  over,  if 
all  is  well  with  her  —  well  with  her  ?  poor  unfortunate 
girl!" 

Lady  Cicely  saw  he  wished  her  gone,  and  she  went 
directly. 

At  nine  o'clock  that  same  evening,  as  she  lay  on  a  sofa 
in  the  best  room  of  the  inn,  attended  by  her  maid,  Dr. 
Philip  Staines  came  to  her.     She  dismissed  her  maid. 

Dr.  Philip  was  too  old,  in  other  words,  had  lost  too 
many  friends,  to  be  really  broken  down  by  bereavement ; 
but  he  was  strangely  subdued.  The  loud  tones  were  out 
of  him,  and  the  loud  laugh,  and  even  the  keen  sneer. 
Yet  he  was  the  same  man ; .  but  with  a  gentler  surface  ; 
and  this  was  not  without  its  pathos. 


A  SIMPLETON.  249 

"  Well,  madam,"  said  ho  gravely  and  quietly.  "  It  is 
as  it  always  has  been.  *  As  is  the  race  of  leaves,  so  that 
of  man.'  When  one  falls,  another  comes.  Here's  a  little 
Cliristopher  come,  in  place  of  him  that  is  gone  :  a  brave, 
beautiful  boy,  ma'am ;  the  finest  but  one  I  ever  brought 
into  the  world.  He  is  come  to  take  his  father's  place  in 
our  hearts  —  I  see  you  valued  his  poor  father,  ma'am  — 
but  he  comes  too  late  for  me.  At  your  age,  ma'am, 
friendships  come  naturally ;  they  spring  like  loves  in 
the  soft  heart  of  youth :  at  seventy,  the  gate  is  not  so 
open;  the  soil  is  more  sterile.  I  shall  never  care  for 
another  Christopher;  never  see  another  grow  to  man's 
estate." 

"The  mother,  sir,"  sobbed  Lady  Cicely;  "the  poor 
mother  ?  " 

"  Like  them  all  —  poor  creature  :  in  heaven,  madam  ; 
in  heaven.  New  life  !  new  existence  !  a  new  character. 
All  the  pride,  glory,  rapture,  and  amazement  of  maternity 
—  thanks  to  her  ignorance,  which  we  must  prolong,  or 
I  would  not  give  one  straw  for  her  life,  or  her  son's.  I 
shall  never  leave  the  house  till  she  does  know  it,  and 
come  when  it  may,  I  dread  the  hour.  She  is  not  framed 
by  nature  to  bear  so  deadly  a  shock." 

"  Her  father,  sir.  Would  he  not  be  the  best  person  to 
break  it  to  her  ?     He  was  out  to-day." 

"  Her  father,  ma'am  ?  I  shall  get  no  help  from  him. 
He  is  one  of  those  soft,  gentle  creatures,  that  come  into 
the  world  with  what  your  canting  fools  call  a  mission ; 
and  his  mission  is  to  take  care  of  number  one.  Not 
dishonestly,  mind  you,  nor  violently,  nor  rudely,  but 
doucely  and  calmly.  The  care  a  brute  like  me  takes 
of  his  vitals,  that  care  Lusignan  takes  of  his  outer  cuticle. 
His  number  one  is  a  sensitive  plant.  No  scenes,  no 
noise ;  nothing  painful  —  by-the-by,  the  little  creature 
that  writes  in  the  papers,  and  calls  calamities  j9a/?i/(f^/,  is 


250  A   SIMPLETON. 

of  Lusignan's  breed.  Out  to-day  !  of  course  he  was  out, 
ma'am  :  he  knew  from  me  his  daughter  would  be  in  peril 
all  day,  so  he  visited  a  friend.  He  knew  his  own  tender- 
ness, and  evaded  paternal  sensibilities :  a  self -de  fender. 
I  count  on  no  help  from  that  charming  man." 

"  A  man  !  I  call  such  creachaas  weptiles  !  "  said  Lady 
Cicely,  her  ghastly  cheek  coloring  for  a  moment. 

"  Then  you  give  them  a  false  importance.'^ 

In  the  course  of  this  interview,  Lady  Cicely  accused 
herself  sadly  of  having  interfered  between  man  and  wife, 
and  with  the  best  intentions  brought  about  this  cruel 
calamity.  "  Judge,  then,  sir,"  said  she,  "  how  grateful 
I  am  to  you  for  undertaking  this  cruel  task.  I  was  her 
schoolfellow,  sir,  and  I  love  her  dearly ;  but  she  has 
turned  against  me,  and  now,  oh,  with  what  horror  she 
will  regard  me  !  " 

"  Madam,"  said  the  doctor,  "  there  is  nothing  more 
mean  and  unjust  than  to  judge  others  by  events  that 
none  could  foresee.  Your  conscience  is  clear.  You  did 
your  bftst  for  my  poor  nephew  :  but  Fate  willed  it  other- 
wise. As  for  my  niece,  she  has  many  virtues,  but  justice 
is  one  you  must  not  look  for  in  that  quarter.  Justice 
requires  brains.  It's  a  virtue  the  heart  does  not  deal  in. 
You  must  be  content  with  your  own  good  conscience, 
and  an  old  man's  esteem.  You  did  all  for  the  best; 
and  this  very  day  you  have  done  a  good,  kind  action. 
God  bless  you  for  it !  " 

Then  he  left  her  ;  and  next  day  she  went  sadly  home, 
and  for  many  a  long  day  the  hollow  world  saw  nothing 
of  Cicely  Treherne. 

When  Mr.  Lusignan  came  home  that  night,  Dr.  Philip 
told  him  the  miserable  story,  and  his  fears.  He  received 
it,  not  as  Philip  had  expected.  The  bachelor  had  counted 
without  his  dormant  paternity.  He  was  terror-stricken 
—  abject — fell  into  a  chair,  and  wrung  his   hands,  and 


A   SIMPLETON.  251 

wept  piteously.  To  keijp  it  from  his  daughter  till  she 
should  be  strouger,  seemed  to  him  chimerical,  impossible. 
However,  Philip  insisted  it  must  be  done  ;  and  he  must 
make  some  excuse  for  keeping  out  of  her  way,  or  his 
manner  would  rouse  her  suspicions.  He  consented 
readily  to  that,  and  indeed  left  all  to  Dr.  Philip. 

Dr.  Philip  trusted  nobody  ;  not  even  his  own  confiden- 
tial servant.  He  allowed  no  journal  to  come  into  the 
house  without  passing  through  his  hands,  and  he  read 
them  all  before  he  would  let  any  other  soul  in  the  house 
see  them.  He  asked  Eosa  to  let  him  be  her  secretary 
and  open  her  letters,  giving  as  a  pretext  that  it  would 
be  as  well  she  should  have  no  small  worries  or  trouble 
just  now. 

"  Why,"  said  she,  "  I  was  never  so  well  able  to  bear 
them.  It  must  be  a  great  thing  to  put  me  out  now.  I 
am  so  happy,  and  live  in  the  future.  Well,  dear  uncle, 
you  can  if  you  like  —  what  does  it  matter  ?  —  only  there 
must  be  one  exception  :  my  own  Christie's  letters,  you 
know." 

"  Of  course,"  said  he,  wincing  inwardly. 

The  very  next  day  came  a  letter  of  condolence  from 
Miss  Lucas.  Dr.  Philip  intercepted  it,  and  locked  it  up, 
to  be  shown  her  at  a  more  fitting  time. 

But  how  could  he  hope  to  keep  so.  public  a  thing  as 
this  from  entering  the  house  in  one  of  a  hundred  news- 
papers ? 

He  went  into  Gravesend,  and  searched  all  the  news- 
papers, to  see  wdiat  he  had  to  contend  with.  To  his 
horror,  he  found  it  in  several  dailies  and  weeklies,  and 
in  two  illustrated  papers.  He  sat  aghast  at  the  difficulty 
and  the  danger. 

The  best  thing  he  could  think  of  was  to  buy  them  all, 
and  cut  out  the  account.  He  did  so,  and  brought  all  the 
papers,  thus  mutilated,  into  the  house,  and  sent  them 


252  A   SIMPLETON. 

into  the  kitchen.  He  said  to  his  ohl  servant,  "These 
may  amuse  Mr.  Lusignan's  people,  and  I  have  extracted 
all  that  interests  me.'' 

By  these  means  he  hoped  that  none  of  the  servants 
would  go  and  buy  more  of  these  same  papers  else- 
where. 

Notwithstanding  these  precautions,  he  took  the  nurse 
apart,  and  said,  "  Now,  you  are  an  experienced  woman, 
and  to  be  trusted  about  an  excitable  patient.  Mind,  I 
object  to  any  female  servant  entering  Mrs.  Staines's  room 
with  gossip.  Keep  them  outside  the  d@or  for  the  present, 
please.  Oh,  and  nurse,  if  anything  should  happen,  likely 
to  grieve  or  to  worry  her,  it  must  be  kept  from  her 
entirely  :  can  I  trust  you  ?  " 

"  You  may,  sir." 

"I  shall  add  ten  guineas  to  your  fee,  if  she  gets 
through  the  month  without  a  shock  or  disturbance  of 
any  kind." 

She  stared  at  him,  inquiringly.     Then  she  said,  — 

"You  may  rely  on  me,  doctor." 

"  I  feel  I  may.  Still,  she  alarms  me.  She  looks  quiet 
enough,  but  she  is  very  excitable." 

Not  all  these  precautions  gave  Dr.  Philip  any  real 
sense  of  security ;  still  less  did  they  to  Mr.  Lusignan. 
He  was  not  a  tender  father,  in  small  things,  but  the  idea 
of  actual  danger  to  his  only  child  was  terrible  to  him ; 
and  he  now  passed  his  life  in  a  continual  tremble. 

This  is  the  less  to  be  wondered  at,  when  I  tell  you 
that  even  the  stout  Philip  began  to  lose  his  nerve,  his 
a})petite,  his  sleep,  under  this  hourly  terror  and  this 
hourly  torture. 

Well  did  the  great  imagination  of  antiquity  feign  a 
torment,  too  great  for  the  mind  long  to  endure,  in  the 
sword  of  Damocles  sus})ended  by  a  single  hair  over  his 
head.     Here  the  sword  hung  over  an  innocent  creature, 


A  SIMPLETON.  253 

who  smiled  beneath  it,  fearless ;  hnt  these  two  old  men 
must  sit  and  watch  the  sword,  and  ask  themselves  how 
long  before  that  subtle  salvation  shall  snap. 

"Ill  news  travels  fast,"  says  the  proverb.  "The  birds 
of  the  air  shall  carry  the  matter,"  says  Holy  Writ ;  and 
it  is  so.  No  bolts  nor  bars,  no  promises  nor  precautions, 
can  long  shut  out  a  great  calamity  from  the  ears  it  is  to 
blast,  the  heart  it  is  to  wither.  The  very  air  seems  full 
of  it,  until  it  falls. 

Rosa's  child  was  more  than  a  fortnight  old ;  and  she 
was  looking  more  beautiful  than  ever,  as  is  often  the 
case  with  a  very  young  mother,  and  Dr.  Philip  compli- 
mented her  on  her  looks.  "  Xow,"  said  he,  "  you  reap 
the  advantage  of  being  good,  and  obedient,  and  keeping 
quiet.  In  another  ten  days  or  so,  I  may  take  you  to  the 
seaside  for  a  week.  I  have  the  honor  to  inform  you 
that  from  about  the  fourth  to  the  tenth  of  ]\Iarch  there 
is  always  a  week  of  fine  weather,  which  takes  everybody 
by  surprise,  except  me.  It  does  not  astonish  me,  because 
I  observe  it  is  invariable.  Now,  what  w^ould  you  say  if 
I  gave  you  a  week  at  Heme  Bay,  to  set  you  up 
altogether  ?  " 

"  As  you  please,  dear  uncle,"  said  Mrs.  Staines,  with  a 
sweet  smile.  "  I  shall  be  very  hapjiy  to  go,  or  to  stay. 
I  shall  be  happy  everywhere,  w^th  my  darling  boy,  and 
the  thought  of  my  husband.  Why,  I  count  the  days  till 
he  shall  come  back  to  me.  No,  to  us ;  to  us,  my  pet. 
How  dare  a  naughty  mammy  say  to  'me,'  as  if  'me '  was 
half  the  'portance  of  oo,  a  precious  pets  ! " 

Dr.  Philip  w\as  surprised  into  a  sigh. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  ?  "  said  Rosa,  very  quickly. 

"  The  matter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  the  matter.  You  sighed ;  you,  the  laugh- 
ing philosopher." 

"  Did  I  ?  "  said  he,  to  gain  time.     "  Perhaps  I  remem- 


254  A   SIMPLETON. 

bered  the  uncertainty  of  liunican  life,  and  of  all  mortal 
hopes.  The  old  will  have  their  thoughts,  my  dear. 
They  have  seen  so  much  trouble.'^ 

"But,  uncle  dear,  he  is  a  very  healthy  child." 

"Very." 

"  And  you  told  me  yourself  carelessness  was  the  cause 
so  many  children  die." 

"That  is  true." 

She  gave  him  a  curious  and  rather  searching  look; 
then,  leaning  over  her  boy,  said,  "Mammy's  not  afraid. 
Beautiful  Pet  was  not  born  to  die  directly.  He  will 
never  leave  his  mam-ma.  No,  uncle,  he  never  can.  For 
my  life  is  bound  in  his  and  his  dear  father's.  It  is  a 
triple  cord :  one  go,  go  all." 

She  said  this  with  a  quiet  resolution  that  chilled 
Uncle  Philip. 

At  this  moment  the  nurse,  who  had  been  bending  so 
pertinaciously  over  some  work  that  her  eyes  were  invisi- 
ble, looked  quickly  up,  cast  a  furtive  glance  at  Mrs. 
Staines,  and  finding  she  was  employed  for  the  moment, 
made  an  agitated  signal  to  Dr.  Philip.  All  she  did  was 
to  clench  her  two  hands  and  lift  them  half  was  to  her 
face,  and  then  cast  a  frightened  look  towards  the  door ; 
but  Philip's  senses  were  so  sharpened  by  constant  alarm 
and  watching,  that  he  saw  at  once  something  serious  was 
the  matter.  But  as  he  had  asked  himself  what  he 
should  do  in  case  of  some  sudden  alarm,  he  merely  gave 
a  nod  of  intelligence  to  the  nurse,  scarcely  perceptible, 
then  rose  quietly  from  his  seat,  and  went  to  the  window. 
"Snow  coming,  I  think,"  said  he.  "Por  all  that  we 
shall  have  the  March  summer  in  ten  days.  You  mark 
my  words."  He  then  went  leisurely  out  of  the  room ; 
at  the  door  he  turned,  and,  with  all  the  cunning  he  was 
master  of,  said,  "  Oh,  by  the  by,  come  to  my  room,  nurse, 
when  you  are  at  leisure." 


A   SLMPLETON.  255 

"  Yes,  doctor,"  said  the  nurse,  but  never  moved.  She 
was  too  bent  on  hiding  the  agitation  she  really  felt. 

"  Had  you  not  better  go  to  him,  nurse  ?  " 

"Perhaps  I  had,  madam." 

She  rose  with  feigned  indifference,  and  left  the  room. 
She  walked  leisurely  down  the  x)assage,  then,  casting  a 
hasty  glance  behind  her,  for  fear  Mrs.  Staines  should  be 
watching  her,  hurried  into  the  doctor's  room.  They  met 
at  once  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Briscoe 
burst  out,  "Sir,  it  is  known  all  over  the  house ! " 

"  Heaven  forbid !     A^^at  is  known  ?  " 

"  What  you  would  give  the  world  to  keep  from  her. 
Wh}^,  sir,  the  moment  you  cautioned  me,  of  course  I  saw 
there  was  trouble.  But  little  I  thought  —  sir,  not  a  serv- 
ant in  the  kitchen  or  the  stable  but  knows  that  her 
husband  —  poor  thing  !  poor  thing  !  —  Ah !  there  goes 
the  housemaid  —  to  have  a  look  at  her." 

"  Stop  her !  " 

Mrs.  Briscoe  had  not  waited  for  this ;  she  rushed  after 
the  woman,  and  told  her  Mrs.  Staines  was  sleeping,  and 
the  room  must  not  be  entered  on  any  account. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  the  maid,  rather  sullenly. 

Mrs.  Briscoe  saw  her  return  to  the  kitchen,  and  came 
back  to  Dr.  Staines ;  he  was  pacing  the  room  in  torments 
of  anxiety. 

"  Doctor,"  said  she,  "  it  is  the  old  story :  '  Servants' 
friends,  the  master's  enemies.'  An  old  servant  came 
here  to  gossip  with  her  friend  the  cook  (she  never  could 
abide  her  while  they  were  together,  by  all  accounts), 
and  told  her  the  w^hole  story  of  his  being  drowned  at 
sea." 

Dr.  Philip  groaned,  "  Cursed  chatterbox  ! "  said  he. 
"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  Must  we  break  it  to  her  now  ? 
Oh,  if  I  could  only  buy  a  few  days  more  !  The  heart  to 
be  crushed  while  the  body  is  weak !     It  is  too  cruel. 


256  A  SIMPLETOK. 

Advise  me,  Mrs.  Briscoe.  You  are  an  experienced 
woman,  and  I  think  you  are  a  kind-liearted  woman." 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Briscoe,  "  I  had  the  name  of  it, 
when  I  was  younger  —  before  Briscoe  failed,  and  I  took 
to  nursing ;  which  it  hardens,  sir,  by  use,  and  along  of 
the  patients  themselves ;  for  sick  folk  are  lumps  of  self- 
ishness ;  we  see  more  of  them  than  you  do,  sir.  But 
this  I  unll  say,  'tisn't  selfishness  that  lies  now  in  that 
room,  waiting  for  the  blow  that  will  bring  her  to  death's 
door,  I'm  sore  afraid;  but  a  sweet,  gentle,  thoughtful 
creature,  as  ever  supped  sorrow ;  for  I  don't  know  how 
'tis,  doctor,  nor  why  'tis,  but  an  angel  like  that  has 
always  to  sup  sorrow." 

"  But  you  do  not  advise  me,"  said  the  doctor,  in  agita- 
tion, "  and  something  must  be  done." 

"  Advise  you,  sir ;  it  is  not  for  me  to  do  that.  I  am 
sure  I'm  at  my  wits'  ends,  poor  thing  !  Well,  sir,  I  don't 
see  what  you  can  do,  but  try  and  break  it  to  her.  Better 
so,  than  let  it  come  to  her  like  a  clap  of  thunder.  But 
I  think,  sir,  I'd  have  a  wet-nurse  ready,  before  I  said 
much :  for  she  is  very  quick  —  and  ten  to  one  but  the 
first  word  of  such  a  thing  turns  her  blood  to  gall.  Sir, 
I  once  knew  a  poor  Avoman  —  she  was  a  carpenter's  wife 
—  a-nursing  her  child  in  the  afternoon  —  and  in  runs  a 
foolish  woman,  and  tells  her  he  was  killed  dead,  off  a 
scaffold.  'Twas  the  man's  sister  told  her.  Well,  sir, 
she  was  knocked  stupid  like,  and  she  sat  staring,  and 
nursing  of  her  child,  before  she  could  take  it  in  rightly. 
The  child  was  dead  before  supper-time,  and  the  woman 
was  not  long  after.  The  whole  family  was  swept  away, 
sir,  in  a  few  hours,  and  I  mind  the  table  was  not  cleared 
he  had  dined  on,  when  they  came  to  lay  them  out.  Well- 
a-day,  nurses  see  sorrow  ! " 

"We  all  see  sorrow  that  live  long,  Mrs.  Briscoe.  I 
am   heart-broken   myself;   I  am  desperate.     You  are  a 


A   SlMrLETON.  1^57 

good  soul,  and  I'll  tell  you.  When  my  nephew  married 
this  poor  girl,  I  was  very  angry  with  him ;  and  I  soon 
found  she  was  not  fit  to  be  a  struggling  man's  wife ;  and 
then  I  was  very  angry  with  her.  She  had  spoiled  a  first- 
rate  physician,  I  thought.  But,  since  I  knew  her  better, 
it  is  all  changed.  She  is  so  lovable.  How  I  shall  ever 
tell  her  this  terrible  thing,  God  knows.  All  I  know  is, 
that  I  will  not  throw  a  chance  away.  Her  body  shall  be 
stronger,  before  I  break  her  heart.  Cursed  idiots,  that 
could  not  save  a  single  man,  Avith  their  boats,  in  a  calm 
sea !  Lord  forgive  me  for  blaming  peo^jle,  when  I  was 
not  there  to  see.  I  say  I  will  give  her  every  chance. 
She  shall  not  know  it  till  she  is  stronger :  no,  not  if  I 
live  at  her  door,  and  sleep  there,  and  all.  Good  God ! 
inspire  me  with  something.  There  is  always  something 
to  be  done,  if  one  could  but  see  it." 

Mrs.  Briscoe  sighed  and  said,  "  Sir,  I  think  anything 
is  better  than  for  her  to  hear  it  from  a  servant  —  and 
they  are  sure  to  blurt  it  out.  Young  women  are  such 
fools." 

"  Ko,  no  ;  I  see  what  it  is,"  said  Dr.  Philip.  "  I  have 
gone  all  wrong  from  the  first.  I  have  been  acting  like  a 
woman,  when  I  should  have  acted  like  a  man.  Why,  I 
only  trusted  you  by  halves.  There  was  a  fool  for  you. 
Never  trust  people  by  halves." 

"  That  is  true,  sir." 

"  Well,  then,  now  I  shall  go  at  it  like  a  man.  I  have 
a  vile  opinion  of  servants  ;  but  no  matter.  I'll  try  them : 
they  are  human,  I  suppose.  I'll  hit  them  between  the 
eyes  like  a  man.  Go  to  the  kitchen,  Mrs.  Briscoe,  and 
tell  them  I  wish  to  speak  to  all  the  servants,  indoors  or 
out." 

"Yes,  sir." 

She  stopped  at  the  door,  and  said,  '^I  had  better  get 
back  to  her,  as  soon  as  I  have  told  them." 


258  A  SUNIPLETON. 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  what  shall  I  tell  her,  sir  ?  Her  first  word  will 
be  to  ask  me  what  you  wanted  me  for.  I  saw  that  in  her 
eye.  She  was  curious :  that  is  why  she  sent  me  after 
you  so  quick." 

Dr.  Philip  groaned.  He  felt  he  was  walking  among 
pitfalls.  He  rapidly  flavored  some  distilled  water  with 
orange-flower,  then  tinted  it  a  beautiful  pink,  and  bottled 
it.  "  There,"  said  he  ;  "I  was  mixing  a  new  medicine. 
Tablespoon,  four  times  a  day :  had  to  filter  it.  Any  lie 
you  like." 

Mrs.  Briscoe  went  to  the  kitchen,  and  gave  her 
message :  then  went  to  Mrs.  Staines  with  the  mix- 
ture. 

Dr.  Philip  went  down  to  the  kitchen,  and  spoke  to 
the  servants  very  solemnly.  He  said,  "  My  good  friends, 
I  am  come  to  ask  your  help  in  a  matter  of  life  and 
death.  There  is  a  poor  young  woman  up-stairs  ;  she  is  a 
widow,  and  does  not  know  it ;  and  must  not  know  it  yet. 
If  the  blow  fell  noAV,  I  think  it  would  kill  her :  indeed, 
if  she  hears  it  all  of  a  sudden,  at  any  time,  that  might 
destroy  her.  We  are  in  so  sore  a  strait  that  a  feather 
may  turn  the  scale.  So  we  must  try  all  we  can  to  gain 
a  little  time,  and  then  trust  to  God's  mercy  after  all. 
Well,  now,  what  do  you  say  ?  Will  you  help  me  keep  it 
from  her,  till  the  tenth  of  March,  say  ?  and  then  I  will 
break  it  to  her  by  degrees.  Forget  she  is  your  mistress. 
Master  and  servant,  that  is  all  very  well  at  a  proper 
time ;  but  this  is  the  time  to  remember  nothing  but  that 
we  are  all  one  flesh  and  blood.  We  lie  down  together 
in  the  churchyard,  and  we  hope  to  rise  together  where 
there  will  be  no  master  and  servant.  Think  of  the  poor 
unfortunate  creature  as  your  own  flesh  and  blood,  and 
tell  me,  will  you  help  me  try  and  save  her,  under  this 
terrible  blow  ?  " 


A    SIMTLETON.  259 

"Ay,  (loftor,  that  we  will/'  said  the  footman.  "Only 
you  give  ns  our  orders,  and  you  will  see." 

"  I  have  no  right  to  give  you  orders ;  but  I  entreat  you 
not  to  show  her  by  word  or  look,  that  calamity  is  upon 
her.  Alas  !  it  is  only  a  reprieve  you  can  give  her  and  to 
me.  The  bitter  hour  must  come  when  I  must  tell  her 
she  is  a  widow,  and  her  boy  an  orphan.  When  that  day 
comes,  I  will  ask  you  all  to  pray  for  me  that  I  may  find 
words.  But  now  I  ask  you  to  give  me  that  ten  days' 
reprieve.  Let  the  poor  creature  recover  a  little  strength, 
before  the  thunderbolt  of  affliction  falls  on  her  head. 
Will  you  promise  me  ?  " 

They  promised  heartily;  and  more  than  one  of  the 
women  began  to  cry. 

"  A  general  assent  will  not  satisfy  me,"  said  Dr.  Philip. 
"  I  want  every  man,  and  every  Avoman,  to  give  me  a  hand 
upon  it ;  then  I  shall  feel  sure  of  you." 

The  men  gave  him  their  hands  at  once.  The  women 
wiped  their  hands  with  their  aprons,  to  make  sure  they 
were  clean,  and  gave  him  their  hands  too.  The  cook 
said,  "  If  any  one  of  us  goes  from  it,  this  kitchen  will 
be  too  hot  to  hold  her." 

"  Nobody  will  go  from  it,  cook,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I'm 
not  afraid  of  that;  and  now  since  you  have  promised 
me,  out  of  your  own  good  hearts,  I'll  try  and  be  even 
with  you.  If  she  knows  nothing  of  it  by  the  tenth  of 
March,  five  guineas  to  every  man  and  woman  in  this 
kitchen.  You  shall  see  that,  if  you  can  be  kind,  we  can 
be  grateful." 

He  then  hurried  away.  He  found  Mr.  Lusignan  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  told  him  all  this.  Lusignan  was 
fluttered,  but  grateful.  "  Ah,  my  good  friend,"  said  he, 
"  this  is  a  hard  trial  to  two  old  men,  like  you  and  me." 

"  It  is,"  said  Philip.  "  It  has  shown  me  my  age.  I 
declare  I  am  trembling ;  I,  whose  nerves  were  iron.     But 


260  A   SIMPLETON. 

I  liave  a  particular  contempt  for  servants.  Mercenary 
wretclies  !  I  tliink  Heaven  inspired  me  to  talk  to  them. 
After  all,  who  knows  ?  perhaps  we  might  find  a  way  to 
their  hearts,  if  we  did  not  eternally  shock  their  vanity, 
and  forget  that  it  is,  and  must  be,  far  greater  than  our 
own.  The  women  gave  me  their  tears,  and  the  men  were 
earnest.  Not  one  hand  lay  cold  in  mine.  As  for  your 
kitchen-maid,  I'd  trust  my  life,  to  that  girl.  What  a 
grip  she  gave  me  !  What  strength  !  What  fidelity  was 
in  it !  My  hand  was  never  (jvasiied  before.  I  think  we 
are  safe  for  a  few  days  more." 

Lusignan  sighed.  "  What  does  it  all  come  to  ?  We 
are  pulling  the  trigger  gently,  that  is  all." 

"  No,  no ;  that  is  not  it.  Don't  let  us  confound  the 
matter  with  similes,  please.     Keep  them  for  children." 

Mrs.  Staines  left  her  bed ;  and  would  have  left  her 
room,  but  Dr.  Philip  forbade  it  strictly. 

One  day,  seated  in  her  arm-chair,  she  said  to  the  nurse, 
before  Dr.  Philip,  "Nurse,  why  do  the  servants  look  so 
curiously  at  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Briscoe  cast  a  hasty  glance  at  Dr.  Philip,  and 
then  said,  "I  don't  know,  madam.  I  never  noticed 
that." 

"Uncle,  why  did  nurse  look  at  you  before  she 
answered  such  a  simple  question  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     What  question  ?  " 

"About  the  servants." 

"  Oh,  about  the  servants  !  "  said  he  contemptuously. 

"  You  should  not  turn  up  your  nose  at  them,  for  they 
are  all  most  kind  and  attentive.  Only,  I  catch  them 
looking  at  me  so  strangely ;  really  —  as  if  they  — " 

"  Eosa,  you  are  taking  me  quite  out  of  my  depth.  The 
looks  of  servant  girls !  Why,  of  course  a  lady  in  your 
condition  is  an  object  of  especial  interest  to  them.  I 
dare  say  they   are  saying   to   one   another,    ^I  wonder 


A   SIMPLETON.  2G1 

when  my  turn  will  come  !  ^  A  fellow-feeling  makes  us 
wondrous  kind  —  that  is  a  proverb,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure.     I  forgot  that." 

She  said  no  more ;  but  seemed  thoughtful,  and  not 
quite  satisfied. 

On  this  Dr.  Philip  begged  the  maids  to  go  near  her  as 
little  as  possible.  "  You  are  not  aware  of  it,"  said  he, 
"  but  your  looks,  and  your  manner  of  sx)eaking,  rouse  her 
attention,  and  she  is  quicker  than  I  thought  she  was, 
and  observes  very  subtly." 

This  was  done ;  and  then  she  complained  that  nobody 
came  near  her.  She  insisted  on  coming  down-stairs ;  it 
was  so  dull. 

Dr.  Phili])  consented,  if  she  would  be  content  to 
receive  no  visits  for  a  week. 

She  assented  to  that ;  and  now  passed  some  hours  every 
day  in  the  drawing-room.  In  her  morning  wrappers,  so 
fresh  and  crisp,  she  looked  lovely,  and  increased  in 
health  and  strength  every  day. 

Dr.  Philip  used  to  look  at  her,  and  his  very  flesh 
would  creep  at  the  thought  that,  ere  long,  he  must  hurl 
this  fair  creature  into  the  dust  of  afliiction ;  must,  Avith 
a  word,  take  the  ruby  from  her  lips,  the  rose  from  her 
cheeks,  the  sparkle  from  her  glorious  eyes  —  eyes  that 
beamed  on  him  with  sweet  affection,  and  a  mouth  that 
never  opened,  but  to  show  some  simplicity  of  mind,  or 
some  pretty  burst  of  the  sensitive  heart. 

He  put  off,  and  put  off,  and  at  last  cowardice  began  to 
whisper,  "  Why  tell  her  the  whole  truth  at  all  ?  Why 
not  take  her  through  stages  of  doubt,  alarm,  and,  after 
all,  leave  a  grain  of  hope  till  her  child  gets  so  rooted 
in  her  heart  that" —  But  conscience  and  good  sense 
interrupted  this  temporary  thought,  and  made  him  see 
to  what  a  horrible  life  of  suspense  he  should  condemn  a 
human  creature,  and  live  a  perpetual  lie,  and  be  always 
at  the  edge  of  some  pitfall  or  other. 


262  A   SIMPLETON. 

One  day,  while  lie  sat  looking  at  her,  with  all  these 
thoughts,  and  many  more,  coursing  through  his  mind, 
she  looked  up  at  him,  and  surprised  him.  "  Ah ! "  said 
she  gravely. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  my  dear  ?  " 

''  Oh,  nothing,"  said  she  cunningly. 

"  Uncle,  dear,"  said  she  presently,  "  when  do  we  go  to 
Heme  Bay?" 

Now,  Dr.  Philip  had  given  that  up.  He  had  got  the 
servants  at  Kent  Villa  on  his  side,  and  he  felt  safer 
here  than  in  any  strange  place :  so  he  said,  "  I  don't 
know:  that  all  depends.     There  is  plenty  of  time." 

"  No,  uncle,"  said  Eosa  gravely.  "  I  wish  to  leave  this 
house.     I  can  hardly  breathe  in  it." 

"  What !  your  native  air  ?  " 

"  Mystery  is  not  my  native  air ;  and  this  house  is  full 
of  mystery.  Voices  whisper  at  my  door,  and  the  people 
don't  come  in.  The  maids  cast  strange  looks  at  me,  and 
hurry  away.  I  scolded  that  pert  girl  Jane,  and  she 
answered  me  as  meek  as  Moses.  I  catch  you  looking  at 
me,  with  love,  and  something  else.  What  is  that  some- 
thing—  ?  It  is  Pity:  that  is  what  it  is.  Do  you 
think,  because  I  am  called  a  simpleton,  that  I  have  no 
eyes,  nor  ears,  nor  sense  ?  What  is  this  secret  which 
you  are  all  hiding  from  one  person,  and  that  is  me  ? 
Ah !  Christopher  has  not  written  these  five  weeks.  Tell 
me  the  truth,  for  I  will  know  it,"  and  she  started  up  in 
wild  excitement. 

Then  Dr.  Philip  saw  the  hour  was  come. 

He  said,  "  My  poor  girl,  you  have  read  us  right.  I  am 
anxious  about  Christopher,  and  all  the  servants  know  it." 

"Anxious,  and  not  tell  me;  his  wife;  the  woman 
whose  life  is  bound  up  in  his." 

"  Was  it  for  us  to  retard  your  convalescence,  and  set 
you  fretting,  and  perhaps  destroy  your  child?     Eosa, 


A  SIMPLETON.  203 

my  darling,  think  what  a  treasure  Heaven  has  sent  yon, 
to  love  and  care  for." 

"Yes,"  said  she,  trembling,  "Heaven  has  been  good  to 
me  ;  I  hope  Heaven  will  always  be  as  good  to  me.  I 
don't  deserve  it;  but  then  I  tell  God  so.  I  am  very 
grateful,  and  very  penitent.  I  never  forget  that,  if  I 
had  been  a  good  wife,  my  husband  —  five  weeks  is  a  long 
time.  Why  do  you  tremble  so  ?  Why  are  you  so  pale 
—  a  strong  man  like  you  ?     Calamity  !  calamity  ! " 

Dr.  Philip  hung  his  head. 

She  looked  at  him,  started  wildly  up,  then  sank  back 
into  her  chair.  So  the  stricken  deer  leaps,  then  falls. 
Yet  even  now  she  put  on  a  deceitful  calm,  and  said, 
"  Tell  me  the  truth.     I  have  a  right  to  know." 

He  stammered  out,  "  There  is  a  report  of  an  accident 
at  sea." 

She  kept  silence. 
.  "  Of  a  passenger  drowned  —  out  of  that  ship.     This, 
coupled  with  his  silence,  fills  our  hearts  with  fear." 

"It  is  worse — you  are  breaking  it  to  me  —  you  have 
gone  too  far  to  stop.  One  word :  is  he  alive  ?  Oh,  say 
he  is  alive  !  " 

Philip  rang  the  bell  hard,  and  said  in  a  troubled  voice, 
"liosa,  think  of  your  child." 

"  Not  when  my  husband  —    Is  he  alive  or  dead  ?  " 

"  It  is  hard  to  say,  with  such  a  terrible  report  about, 
and  no  letters,"  faltered  the  old  man,  his  courage  failing 
him. 

"  What  are  you  afraid  of  ?  Do  you  think  I  can't  die, 
and  go  to  him  ?  Alive,  or  dead  ?  "  and  she  stood  before 
him,  raging  and  quivering  in  every  limb. 

The  nurse  came  in.   • 

"  Fetch  her  child,"  he  cried ;  "  God  have  mercy  on  her." 

"  Ah,  then  he  is  dead,"  said  she,  with  stony  calmness. 
"  I  drove  him  to  sea,  and  he  is  dead." 


264  A   SIMPLETON. 

The  nurse  rushed  in,  and  held  the  child  to  her. 

She  would  not  look  at  it. 

"Dead!" 

"  Yes,  our  poor  Christie  is  gone  —  but  his  child  is 
here  —  the  image  of  him.  Do  not  forget  the  mother. 
Have  pity  on  his  child  and  yours." 

"  Take  it  out  of  my  sight ! "  she  screamed.  "  Away 
with  it,  or  I  shall  murder  it,  as  I  have  murdered  its 
father.  My  dear  Christie,  before  all  that  live  !  I  have 
killed  him.  I  shall  die  for  him.  I  shall  go  to  him." 
She  raved  and  tore  her  hair.  Servants  rushed  in.  Rosa 
was  carried  to  her  bed,  screaming  and  raving,  and  her 
black  hair  all  down  on  both  sides,  a  piteous  sight. 

Swoon  followed  swoon,  and  that  very  night  brain  fever 
set  in  with  all  its  sad  accompaniments  ;  a  poor  bereaved 
creature,  tossing  and  moaning ;  pale,  anxious,  but  reso- 
lute faces  of  the  nurse  and  the  kitchen-maid  Avatching : 
on  one  table  a  pail  of  ice,  and  on  another  the  long,  thick 
raven  hair  of  our  poor  Simpleton,  lying  on  clean  silver 
paper.  Dr.  Philip  had  cut  it  all  off  with  his  own  hand, 
and  he  was  now  folding  it  up,  and  crying  over  it ;  for  he 
thought  to  himself,  "  Perhaps  in  a  few  days  more  only 
this  will  be  left  of  her  on  earth." 


A  SIMrLETON.  2G5 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Staixes  fell  head-foremost  into  the  sea  with  a  heavy- 
plunge.  Being  an  excellent  swimmer,  he  struck  out  the 
moment  he  touched  ths  water,  and  that  arrested  his  dive, 
and  brought  him  up  with  a  slant,  shocked  and  panting, 
drenched  and  confused.  The  next  moment  he  saAv,  as 
through  a  fog  —  his  eyes  being  full  of  water  —  something 
fall  from  the  ship.  He  breasted  the  big  waves,  and  swam 
towards  it :  it  rose  on  the  top  of  a  wave,  and  he  saw 
it  was  a  life-buoy.  Encumbered  with  wet  clothes,  he 
seemed  impotent  in  the  big  waves  ;  they  threw  him  up 
so  high,  and  down  so  low. 

Almost  exhausted,  he  got  to  the  life-buoy,  and  clutched 
it  with  a  fierce  grasp  and  a  wild  cry  of  delight.  He  got 
it  over  his  head,  and,  placing  his  arms  round  the  buoyant 
circle,  stood  with  his  breast  and  head  out  of  water, 
gasping. 

He  now  drew  a  long  breath,  and  got  his  wet  hair  out 
of  his  eyes,  already  smarting  with  salt  water,  and,  rais- 
ing himself  on  the  buoy,  looked  out  for  help. 

He  saw,  to  his  great  concern,  the  ship  already  at  a 
distance.  She  seemed  to  have  flown,  and  she  was  still 
drifting  fast  away  from  him. 

He  saw  no  signs  of  help.  His  heart  began  to  turn  as 
cold  as  his  drenched  body.     A  horrible  fear  crossed  him. 

But  presently  he  saw  the  weather-boat  filled,  and  fall 
into  the  water ;  and  then  a  wave  rolled  between  him  and 
the  ship,  and  he  only  saw  her  topmast. 

The  next  time  he  rose  on  a  mighty  wave  he  saw  the 
boats  together  astern  of  the  vessel,  but  not  coming  his 


266  A  SIMPLETON. 

way ;  and  the  gloom  was  thickening,  the  ship  becoming 
indistinct,  and  all  was  doubt  and  horror. 

A  life  of  agony  passed  in  a  few  minutes. 

He  rose  and  fell  like  a  cork  on  the  buoyant  waves  — 
rose  and  fell,  and  saw  nothing  but  the  ship's  lights,  now 
terribly  distant. 

But  at  last,  as  he  rose  and  fell,  he  caught  a  few  fitful 
glimpses  of  a  smaller  light  rising  and  falling  like  him- 
self. "  A  boat !  "  he  cried,  and  raising  himself  as  high 
as  he  could,  shouted,  cried,  implored  for  help.  He 
stretched  his  hands  across  the  water.  ^^  This  way  !  this 
way  ! " 

The  light  kept  moving,  but  it  came  no  nearer.  They 
had  greatly  underrated  the  drift.  The  other  boat  had  no 
light. 

Minutes  passed  of  suspense,  hope,  doubt,  dismay, 
terror.     Those  minutes  seemed  hours. 

In  the  agony  of  suspense  the  quaking  heart  sent  beads 
of  sweat  to  the  brow,  though  the  body  was  immersed.   • 

And  the  gloom  deepened,  and  the  cold  waves  flung 
him  up  to  heaven  with  their  giant  arms,  and  then  down 
again  to  hell :  and  still  that  light,  his  only  hope,  was 
several  hundred  yards  from  him. 

Only  for  a  moment  at  a  time  could  his  eyeballs,  strain- 
ing with  agony,  catch  this  will-o'-the-wisj),  the  boat's 
light.  It  groped  the  sea  up  and  down,  but  came  no 
near. 

When  what  seemed  days  of  agony  had  passed,  sud- 
denly a  rocket  rose  in  the  horizon  —  so  it  seemed  to  him. 

The  lost  man  gave  a  shriek  of  joy ;  so  prone  are  we 
to  interpret  things  hopefully. 

Misery  !  The  next  time  he  saw  that  little  light,  that 
solitary  spark  of  hope,  it  was  not  quite  so  near  as  before. 
A  mortal  sickness  fell  on  his  heart.  The  ship  had 
recalled  the  boats  by  rocket. 


A   SIMPLETON.  2G7 

He  shrieked,  he  cried,  he  screamed,  he  raved.  "Oh, 
Rosa !  Rosa  !  for  her  sake,  men,  men,  do  not  leave  me. 
I  am  here  !  here  !  " 

In  vain.  The  miserable  man  saw  the  boat's  little 
light  retire,  recede,  and  melt  into  the  ship's  larger  light, 
and  that  light  glided  away. 

Then,  a  cold,  deadly  stupor  fell  on  him.  Then^  death's 
icy  claw  seized  his  heart,  and  seemed  to  run  from  it  to 
every  part  of  him.  He  was  a  dead  man.  Only  a  ques- 
tion of  time.     Nothing  to  gain  by  floating. 

But  the  despairing  mind  could  not  quit  the  world  in 
peace,  and  even  here  in  the  cold,  cruel  sea,  the  quivering 
body  clung  to  this  fragment  of  life,  and  winced  at  death's 
touch,  though  more  merciful. 

He  despised  this  weakness ;  he  raged  at  it ;  he  could 
not  overcome  it. 

Unable  to  live  or  to  die,  condemned  to  float  slowly, 
hour  by  hour,  down  into  death's  jaws. 

To  a  long,  death-like  stupor  succeeded  frenzy.  Fury 
seized  this  great  and  long-suffering  mind.  It  rose 
against  the  cruelty  and  injustice  of  his  fate.  He  cursed 
the  world,  whose  stupidity  had  driven  him  to  sea;  he 
cursed  remorseless  nature ;  and  at  last  he  railed  on  the 
God  who  made  him,  and  made  the  cruel  water,  that  was 
waiting  for  his  body.  "  God's  justice  !  God's  mercy  ! 
God's  power !  they  are  all  lies,"  he  shouted,  "  dreams, 
chimeras,  like  Him  the  all-powerful  and  good,  men  babble 
of  by  the  fire.  If  there  was  a  God  more  powerful  than 
thfe  sea,  and  only  half  as  good  as  men  are,  he  would  pity 
my  poor  Rosa  and  me,  and  send  a  hurricane  to  drive 
those  caitiffs  back  to  the  wretch  they  have  abandoned. 
Nature  alone  is  mighty.  Oh,  if  I  could  have  her  on  my 
side,  and  only  God  against  me  !  But  she  is  as  deaf  to 
prayer  as  He  is  :  as  mechanical  and  remorseless.  I  am 
a  bubble  melting  into  the  sea.     Soul  I  have  none  j  my 


268  A  SIMPLETON. 

body  will  soon  be  notbing,  nothing.  So  ends  an  honest, 
loving  life.  I  always  tried  to  love  my  fellow-creatures. 
Curse  them  !  curse  them  !  Curse  the  earth  !  Curse  the 
sea  I  Curse  all  nature :  there  is  no  other  God  for  me  to 
curse." 

The  moon  came  out. 

He  raised  his  head  and  staring  eyeballs,  and  cursed 
her. 

The  wind  began  to  whistle,  and  flung  spray  in  his  face. 

He  raised  his  fallen  head  and  staring  eyeballs,  and 
cursed  the  wind. 

While  he  was  thus  raving,  he  became  sensible  of  a 
black  object  to  windward. 

It  looked  like  a  rail,  and  a  man  leaning  on  it. 

He  stared,  he  cleared  the  wet  hair  from  his  eyes,  and 
stared  again. 

The  thing,  being  larger  than  himself  and  partly  out 
of  water,  was  drifting  to  leeward  faster  than  himself. 

He  stared  and  trembled,  and  at  last  it  came  nearly 
abreast,  black,  black. 

He  gave  a  loud  cry,  and  tried  to  swim  towards  it ;  but 
encumbered  with  his  life-buoy,  he  made  little  progress. 
The  thing  drifted  abreast  of  him,  but  ten  yards  distant. 

As  they  each  rose  high  upon  the  waves,  he  saw  it 
plainly. 

It  was  the  very  raft  that  had  been  the  innocent  cause 
of  his  sad  fate. 

He  shouted  with  hope,  he  swam,  he  struggled ;  he  got 
near  it,  but  not  to  it ;  it  drifted  past,  and  he  lost  his 
chance  of  intercepting  it.  He  struggled  after  it.  The 
life-buoy  would  not  let  him  catch  it. 

Then  he  gave  a  cry  of  agony,  rage,  despair,  and  flung 
off  the  life-buoy,  and  risked  all  on  this  one  chance. 

He  gains  a  little  on  the  raft. 

He  loses. 


A  SIMPLETON.  2G9 

He  gains :  he  cries,  "  Rosa !  Rosa !  "  and  struggles 
with  all  his  soul,  as  well  as  his  body :  he  gains. 

But  when  almost  within  reach,  a  wave  half  drowns 
him,  and  he  loses. 

He  cries,  "  Rosa !  Rosa !  "  and  swims  high  and  strong. 
^'Rosa!  Rosa!  Rosa!" 

He  is  near  it.  He  cries,  "  Rosa !  Rosa  !  "  and  with  all 
the  energy  of  love  and  life  flings  himself  almost  out  of 
the  water,  and  catches  hold  of  the  nearest  thing  on  the 
raft. 

It  was  the  dead  man^s  leg. 

It  seemed  as  if  it  would  come  away  in  his  grasp.  He 
dared  not  try  to  i)^iil  himself  up  by  that.  But  he  held 
on  by  it,  panting,  exhausting,  faint. 

This  faintness  terrified  him.  "Oh,"  thought  he,  "if 
I  faint  now,  all  is  over." 

Holding  by  that  terrible  and  strange  support,  he  made 
a  grasp,  and  caught  hold  of  the  woodwork  at  the  bottom 
of  the  rail.     He  tried  to  draw  himself  up.     Impossible. 

He  was  no  better  off  than  with  his  life-buoy. 

But  in  situations  so  dreadful,  men  think  fast ;  he 
worked  gradually  round  the  bottom  of  the  raft  by  his 
hands,  till  he  got  to  leeward,  still  holding  on.  There  he 
found  a  solid  block  of  wood  at  the  edge  of  the  raft.  He 
prised  himself  carefully  up ;  the  raft  in  that  part  then 
sank  a  little  :  he  got  his  knee  upon  the  timber  of  the 
raft,  and  with  a  wild  cry  seized  the  nearest  upright,  and 
threw  both  arms  round  it  and  clung  tight.  Then  first 
he  found  breath  to  speak.  "  Thaxk  God  !  "  he  cried, 
kneeling  on  the  timber,  and  grasping  the  upright  post  — 
"  Oh,  thank  God  !  thank  God  ! " 


270  A  SLMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  Thank  God ! "  why,  according  to  Ms  tlieory,  it 
should  have  been  "  Thank  Nature."  But  I  observe  that, 
in  such  cases,  even  philosophers  are  ungrateful  to  the 
mistress  they  worship. 

Our  philosopher  not  only  thanked  God,  but  being  on 
his  knees,  prayed  forgiveness  for  his  late  ravings,  prayed 
hard,  with  one  arm  curled  round  the  upright,  lest  the 
sea,  which  ever  and  anon  rushed  over  the  bottom  of  the 
raft,  should  swallow  him  up  in  a  moment. 

Then  he  rose  carefully,  and  wedged  himself  into  the 
corner  of  the  raft  opposite  to  that  other  figure,  ominous 
relic  of  the  wild  voyage  the  new-comer  had  entered 
upon ;  he  put  both  arms  over  the  rail,  and  stood  erect. 

The  moon  Avas  now  up ;  but  so  was  the  breeze :  fleecy 
clouds  flew  with  vast  rapidity  across  her  bright  face,  and 
it  was  by  fitful  though  vivid  glances  Staines  examined 
the  raft  and  his  companion. 

The  raft  was  large,  and  well  made  of  timbers  tied  and 
nailed  together,  and  a  strong  rail  ran  round  it  resting  on 
several  uprights.  There  were  also  some  blocks  of  a  very 
light  wood  screwed  to  the  horizontal  timbers,  and  these 
made  it  float  high. 

But  Avhat  arrested  and  fascinated  the  man's  gaze  was 
his  dead  companion,  sole  survivor,  doubtless,  of  a  horri- 
ble voyage,  since  the  raft  was  not  made  for  one,  nor  by 
one. 

It  was  a  skeleton,  or  nearly,  whose  clothes  the  sea- 
birds  had  torn,  and  pecked  every  limb  in  all  the  fleshy 
parts  J  the  rest  of  the  body  had  dried  to  dark  leather  on 


A   SIIMPLETON.  271 

lihe  bones.  The  head  was  little  more  than  an  eyeless 
skull ;  but  in  the  fitful  moonlight,  those  liuge  hollow 
caverns  seemed  gigantic  lamp-like  eyes,  and  glared  at 
him  fiendishly,  appallingly. 

He  sickened  at  the  sight.  He  tried  not  to  look  at  it ; 
but  it  would  be  looked  at,  and  threaten  him  in  the  moon- 
light, with  great  lack-Kistre  eyes. 

The  wind  whistled,  and  lashed  his  face  with  spray 
torn  olf  the  big  waves,  and  the  water  was  nearly  up  to 
his  knees,  and  the  raft  tossed  so  wildly,  it  was  all  he 
could  do  to  hold  on  in  his  corner:  in  which  struggle, 
still  those  monstrous  lack-lustre  eyes,  like  lamps  of 
death,  glared  at  him  in  the  moon;  all  else  was  dark, 
except  the  fiery  crests  of  the  black  mountain-billows, 
tumbling  and  raging  all  around. 

"Wliat  a  night ! 

But,  before  morning,  the  breeze  sank,  the  moon  set, 
and  a  sombre  quiet  succeeded,  with  only  that  grim  figure 
in  outline  dimly  visible.  Owing  to  the  motion  still 
retained  by  the  waves,  it  seemed  to  nod  and  rear,  and  be 
ever  preparing  to  rush  upon  him. 

The  sun  rose  glorious,  on  a  lovely  scene ;  the  sk}^  was 
a  very  mosaic  of  colors  sweet  and  vivid,  and  the  tranquil, 
rippling  sea,  peach-colored  to  the  horizon,  with  lines  of 
diamonds  where  the  myriad  ripples  broke  into  smiles. 

Staines  was  asleep,  exhausted.  Soon  the  light  awoke 
him,  and  he  looked  up.  Wliat  an  incongruous  j^icture 
met  his  eye :  that  heaven  of  color  all  above  and  around, 
and  right  before  him,  like  a  devil  stuck  in  mid-heaven, 
that  grinning  corpse,  whose  fate  foreshadowed  his  own. 

But  daylight  is  a  great  strengthener  of  the  nerves ; 
the  figure  no  longer  appalled  him  —  a  man  who  had  long 
learned  to  look  with  Science's  calm  eye  upon  the  dead. 
Wlien  the  sea  became  like  glass,  and  from  peach-color 
deepened  to  rose,  he  walked  along  the  raft,  and  inspected 


272  A    SIMrLETON. 

the  dead  man.  He  found  it  was  a  man  of  color,  but  not 
a  black.  The  body  was  not  kept  in  its  place,  as  he  hiid 
supposed,  merely  by  being  jammed  into  the  angle  caused 
by  the  rail;  it  was  also  lashed  to  the  corner  upright  by 
a  long,  stout  belt.  Staines  concluded  this  had  kept  the 
body  there,  and  its  companions  had  been  swept  away. 

This  was  not  lost  on  him  :  he  removed  the  belt  for  his 
own  use  :  he  then  found  it  was  not  only  a  belt,  but  a 
rece})tacle  ;  it  was  nearly  full  of  small,  hard  substances 
that  felt  like  stones. 

AYhen  he  had  taken  it  off  the  body,  he  felt  a  compunc- 
tion. "  Ought  he  to  rob  the  dead,  and  expose  it  to  be 
swept  into  the  sea  at  the  first  wave,  like  a  dead  dog  ?  " 

He  Avas  about  to  replace  the  belt,  when  a  middle  course 
occurred  to  him.  He  was  a  man  who  always  carried 
certain  useful  little  things  about  him,  viz.,  needles, 
thread,  scissors,  and  string.  He  took  a  piece  of  string, 
and  easily  secured  this  poor  light  skeleton  to  the  raft. 
The  belt  he  strapped  to  the  rail,  and  kept  for  his  own 
need. 

And  now  hunger  gnawed  him.  No  food  was  near. 
There  was  nothing  but  the  lovely  sea  and  sky,  mosaic 
with  color,  and  that  grim,  ominous  skeleton. 

Hunger  comes  and  goes  many  times  before  it  becomes 
insupportable.  All  that  day  and  night,  and  the  next 
day,  he  suffered  its  pangs ;  and  then  it  became  torture, 
but  the  thirst  maddening. 

Towards  night  fell  a  gentle  rain.  He  spread  a  hand- 
kerchief and  caught  it.     He  sucked  the  handkerchief. 

This  revived  him,  and  even  allayed  in  some  degree  the 
pangs  of  hunger. 

Next  day  was  cloudless.  A  hot  sun  glared  on  his 
unprotected  head,  and  battered  down  his  enfeebled  frame. 

He  resisted  as  well  as  he  could.  He  often  dipped  his 
head,  and  as  often  the  persistent  sun,  with  cruel  glare, 
made  it  smoke  again. 


A  SIMPLETON.  273 

Next  day  the  same :  but  the  strength  to  meet  it  was 
waning.  He  lay  down  and  thought  of  Eosa,  and  wept 
bitterly.  He  took  the  dead  num's  belt,  and  lashed  him- 
self to  the  upright.  That  act,  and  his  tears  for  his 
beloved,  were  almost  his  last  acts  of  perfect  reason :  for 
next  day  came  the  delusions  and  the  dreams  that  succeed 
when  hunger  ceases  to  torture,  and  the  vital  powers 
begin  to  ebb.  He  lay  and  saw  pleasant  meadows  with 
meandering  streams,  and  clusters  of  rich  fruit  that 
courted  the  hand  and  melted  in  the  mouth. 

Ever  and  anon  they  vanished,  and  he  saw  grim  death 
looking  down  on  him  with  those  big  cavernous  eyes. 

By  and  by,  whether  his  body's  eye  saw  the  grim  skel- 
eton, or  his  mind's  eye  the  juicy  fruits,  green  meadows, 
and  p>early  brooks,  all  was  shadowy. 

So,  in  a  placid  calm,  beneath  a  blue  sky,  the  raft 
drifted  dead,  with  its  dead  freight,  upon  the  glassy  pur- 
})le,  and  he  drifted,  too,  towards  the  world  unknown. 

There  came  across  the  waters  to  that  dismal  raft  a 
thing  none  too  common,  by  sea  or  land  —  a  good  man. 

He  was  tall,  stalwart,  bronzed,  and  had  hair  like  snow, 
before  his  time,  for  he  had  known  trouble.  He  com- 
manded a  merchant  steamer,  bound  for  Calcutta,  on  the 
old  route. 

The  man  at  the  mast-head  descried  a  floating  wreck, 
and  hailed  the  deck  accordingly.  The  captain  altered 
his  course  without  one  moment's  hesitation,  and  brought 
up  alongside,  lowered  a  boat,  and  brought  the  dead,  and 
the  breathing  man,  on  board. 

A  young  middy  lifted  Staines  in  his  arms  from  the 
wreck  to  the  boat ;  he  whose  person  I  described  in  chap- 
ter one  weighed  now  no  more  than  that. 

]\[en  are  not  alwaj's  rougher  than  women.  Their 
strength  and  nerve  enable  them  now  and  then  to  be 
gentler  than  buttery-fingered  angels,  who  drop  frail 
18 


274  A   SENirLETON. 

things  tlirough  sensitive  agitation,  and  break  them. 
These  rough  men  saw  Staines  was  hovering  between 
life  and  death,  and  the}^  handled  him  like  a  thing  the 
ebbing  life  might  be  shaken  out  of  in  a  moment.  It 
was  pretty  to  see  how  gingerly  the  sailors  carried  the 
sinking  man  up  the  ladder,  and  one  fetched  swabs,  and 
the  others  laid  him  down  softly  on  them  at  their  captain's 

feet. 

"  Well  done,  men,"  said  he.  "  Poor  fellow  !  Pray 
Heaven,  we  may  not  have  come  too  late.  Now  stand 
aloof  a  bit.     Send  the  surgeon  aft." 

The  surgeon  came,  and  looked,  and  felt  the  heart.  He 
shook  his  head,  and  called  for  brandy„  He  had  Staines's 
head  raised,  and  got  half  a  spoonful  of  diluted  brandy 
down  his  throat.     But  there  was  an  ominous  gurgling. 

After  several  such  attempts  at  intervals,  he  said  i)lainly 
the  man's  life  could  not  be  saved  by  ordinary  means. 

"Then  try  extraordinary,"  said  the  captain.  "My 
orders  are  that  he  is  to  be  saved.  There  is  life  in  him. 
You  have  only  got  to  keep  it  there.  He  7mtst  be  saved ; 
he  shall  be  saved." 

"  I  should  like  to  try  Dr.  Staines's  remedy,"  said  the 
surgeon. 

"  Try  it,  then :  what  is  it  ?  " 

«A  bath  of  beef-tea.  Dr.  Staines  says  he  applied  it 
to  a  starved  cliild  —  in  the  Lancet." 

"  Take  a  hundred-weight  of  beef,  and  boil  it  in  the 
coppers." 

Thus  encouraged,  the  surgeon  went  to  the  cook,  and 
very  soon  beef  was  steaming  on  a  scale  and  at  a  rate 
unparalleled. 

Meantime,  Captain  Dodd  had  the  patient  taken  to  his 
own  cabin,  and  he  and  his  servant  administered  weak 
brandy  and  water  with  great  caution  and  skill. 

There  was  no  perceptible  result.     But  at  all  events 


A   SlMl'LETON.  275 

there  was  life  and  vital  instinct  left,  or  lie  could  not 
liave  swallowed. 

Thus  they  hovered  about  him  for  some  hours,  and  then 
the  bath  was  ready. 

The  captain  took  charge  of  the  patient's  clothes :  the 
surgeon  and  a  sailor  bathed  him  in  lukewarm  beef-tea, 
and  then  covered  him  very  warm  with  blankets  next  the 
skin.  Guess  how  near  a  thing  it  seemed  to  them,  when 
I  tell  you  they  dared  not  rub  him. 

Just  before  sunset  his  i^ulse  became  perceptible.  The 
surgeon  administered  half  a  spoonful  of  egg-flip.  The 
patient  swallowed  it. 

By  and  by  he  sighed. 

"He  must  not  be  left,  day  or  night,"  said  the  captain. 
"  I  don't  know  who  or  what  he  is,  but  he  is  a  man ;  and 
I  could  not  bear  him  to  die  now." 

That  night  Captain  Dodd  overhauled  the  patient's 
clothes,  and  looked  for  marks  on  his  linen.  There  were 
none. 

"  Poor  devil !  "  said  Captain  Dodd.    "  He  is  a  bachelor." 

Captain  Dodd  found  his  pocket-book,  with  bank-notes, 
two  hundred  pounds.  He  took  the  numbers,  made  a 
memorandum  of  them,  and  locked  the  notes  up. 

He  lighted  his  lamp,  examined  the  belt,  unripped  it, 
and  poured  out  the  contents  on  his  table. 

They  were  dazzling.  A  great  many  large  pieces  of 
amethyst,  and  some  of  white  topaz  and  rock  crystal ;  a 
large  number  of  smaller  stones,  carbuncles,  chrysolites, 
and  not  a  few  emeralds.  Dodd  looked  at  them  with 
pleasure,  sparkling  in  the  lamplight. 

"  What  a  lot ! "  said  he.  "  I  wonder  what  they  are 
worth  !  "  He  sent  for  the  first  mate,  who,  he  knew,  did 
a  little  private  business  in  precious  stones.  "Master- 
ton,"  said  he,  "  oblige  me  by  counting  these  stones  with 
me,  and  valuing  them," 


276  A  SIMPLETON. 

Mr.  Masterton  stared,  and  liis  mouth  watered.  How- 
ever, he  named  the  various  stones  and  vahied  them.  He 
said  there  was  one  stone,  a  large  enierakl,  without  a 
flaw,  that  was  worth  a  heavy  sum  by  itself;  and  the 
pearls,  very  fine :  and  looking  at  the  great  number,  they 
must  be  worth  a  thousand  pounds. 

Captain  Dodd  then  entered  the  whole  business  care- 
fully in  the  ship's  log:  the  living  man  he  described 
thus :  "  About  five  feet  six  in  height,  and  about  fifty 
years  of  age."  Then  he  described  the  notes  and  the 
stones  very  exactly,  and  made  Masterton,  the  valuer, 
sign  the  log. 

Staines  took  a  good  deal  of  egg-flip  that  night,  and 
next  day  ate  solid  food;  but  they  questioned  him  in 
vain;  his  reason  was  entirely  in  abeyance:  he  had  be- 
come an  eater,  and  nothing  else.  Whenever  they  gave 
him  food,  he  showed  a  sort  of  fawning  animal  gratitude. 
Other  sentiment  he  had  none,  nor  did  words  enter  his 
mind  any  more  than  a  bird's.  And  since  it  is  not  pleas- 
ant to  dwell  on  the  wreck  of  a  fine  understanding,  I  will 
only  say  that  they  landed  him  at  Cape  Town,  out  of 
bodily  danger,  but  weak,  and  his  mind,  to  all  appearance, 
a  hopeless  blank. 

They  buried  the  skeleton,  —  read  the  service  of  the 
English  Church  over  a  Malabar  heathen. 

Dodd  took  Staines  to  the  hospital,  and  left  twenty 
pounds  with  the  governor  of  it  to  cure  him.  But  he 
deposited  Staines's  money  and  jewels  with  a  friendly 
banker,  and  begged  that  the  principal  cashier  might  see 
the  man,  and  be  able  to  recognize  him,  should  he  apply 
for  his  own. 

The  cashier  came  and  examined  him,  and  also  the 
ruby  ring  on  his  finger  —  a  parting  gift  from  Eosa  — 
and  remarked  this  was  a  new  way  of  doing  business. 
"  Why,  it  is  the  only  one,  sir,"  said  Dodd.     "  How  can 


A   SIMPLETON.  277 

we  give  you  his  signature  ?  He  is  not  in  liis  riglit 
mind." 

"  Nor  never  will  be." 

"  Don't  say  that,  sir.  Let  us  hope  for  the  best,  poor 
fellow." 

Having  made  these  provisions,  the  worthy  captain 
weighed  anchor,  Avith  a  warm  heart  and  a  good  con- 
science. Yet  the  image  of  the  man  he  had  saved  pur- 
sued him,  and  he  resolved  to  look  after  him  next  time 
he  should  coal  at  Cape  Town,  homeward  bound. 

Staines  recovered  his  strength  in  about  two  months ; 
but  his  mind  returned  in  fragments,  and  very  slowly. 
For  a  long,  long  time  he  remembered  nothing  that  had 
preceded  his  great  calamity.  His  mind  started  afresh, 
aitled  only  by  certain  fixed  habits  ;  for  instance,  he  could 
read  and  write :  but,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  he  had 
no  idea  who  he  w^as ;  and  when  his  memory  cleared  a 
little  on  that  head,  he  thought  his  surname  was  Christie, 
but  he  was  not  sure. 

Nevertheless,  the  presiding  physician  discovered  in 
him  a  certain  progress  of  intelligence,  which  gave  him 
great  hopes.  In  the  fifth  month,  having  shown  a  marked 
interest  in  the  other  sick  patients,  coupled  with  a  dispo- 
sition to  be  careful  and  attentive,  they  made  him  a 
nurse,  or  rather  a  sub-nurse  under  the  special  orders  of 
a  responsible  nurse.  I  really  believe  it  was  done  at  first 
to  avoid  the  alternative  of  sending  him  adrift,  or  trans- 
ferring him  to  the  insane  ward  of  the  hospital.  In  this 
congenial  pursuit  he  showed  such  watchfulness  and  skill, 
that  by  and  by  they  found  they  had  got  a  treasure.  Two 
months  after  that  he  began  to  talk  about  medicine,  and 
astonished  them  still  more.  He  became  the  puzzle  of 
the  establishment.  The  doctor  and  surgeon  would  con- 
verse with  him,  and  try  and  lead  him  to  his  past  life ; 
but  when  it  came  to  that,  he  used  to  put  his  hands  to 


278  A  SIMPLETON. 

liis  liead  with  a  face  of  great  distress,  and  it  was  clear 
some  impassable  barrier  lay  between  his  growing  intelli- 
gence and  the  past  events  of  his  life.  Indeed,  on  one 
occasion,  he  said  to  his  kind  friend  the  doctor,  "The 
past !  —  a  black  wall !  a  black  wall ! " 

Ten  months  after  his  admission  he  was  promoted  to 
be  an  attendant,  with  a  salary. 

He  put  by  every  shilling  of  it  5  for  he  said,  "  A  voice 
from  the  dark  past  tells  me  money  is  everything  in  this 
world." 

A  discussion  was  held  by  the  authorities  as  to  whether 
he  should  be  informed  he  had  money  and  jewels  at  the 
bank  or  not. 

Upon  the  whole,  it  was  thought  advisable  to  postpone 
this  information,  lest  he  should  throw  it  away ;  but  they 
told  him  he  had  been  picked  up  at  sea,  and  both  money 
and  jewels  found  on  him ;  they  were  in  safe  hands,  only 
the  person  was  away  for  the  time.  Still,  he  was  not  to 
look  upon  himself  as  either  friendless  or  moneyless. 

At  this  communication  he  showed  an  almost  childish 
delight,  that  confirmed  the  doctor  in  his  opinion  he  was 
acting  prudently,  and  for  the  real  benefit  of  an  amiable 
and  afflicted  person,  not  yet  to  be  trusted  with  money 
and  jewels. 


A  SIMPLETON.  279 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

In  his  quality  of  attendant  on  the  sick,  Staines  some- 
times conducted  a  weak  but  convalescent  patient  into  the 
open  air ;  and  he  was  always  pleased  to  do  this,  for  the 
air  of  the  Cape  carries  health  and  vigor  on  its  wings. 
He  had  seen  its  fine  recreative  properties,  and  he  divined, 
somehow,  that  the  minds  of  convalescents  ought  to  be 
amused,  and  so  he  often  begged  the  doctor  to  let  him 
take  a  convalescent  abroad.  Sooner  than  not,  he  would 
draw  the  patient  several  miles  in  a  Bath  chair.  He 
rather  liked  this;  for  he  was  a  Hercules,  and  had  no 
egotism  or  false  pride  where  the  sick  were  concerned. 

Now,  these  open-air  walks  exerted  a  beneficial  influence 
on  his  own  darkened  mind.  It  is  one  thing  to  struggle 
from  idea  to  idea;  it  is  another  when  material  objects 
mingle  with  the  retrospect ;  they  seem  to  supply  stepping- 
stones  in  the  gradual  resuscitation  of  memory  and  reason. 

The  ships  going  out  of  port  were  such  a  stepping- 
stone  to  him,  and  a  vague  consciousness  came  back  to 
him  of  having  been  in  a  ship. 

Unfortunately,  along  with  this  reminiscence  came  a 
desire  to  go  in  one  again;  and  this  sowed  discontent  in 
his  mind,  and  the  more  that  mind  enlarged,  the  more  he 
began  to  dislike  the  hosi)ital  and  its  confinement.  The 
feeling  grew,  and  bade  fair  to  disqualify  him  for  his 
humble  ofiice.  The  authorities  could  not  fail  to  hear  of 
this,  and  they  had  a  little  discussion  about  parting  with 
him ;  but  they  hesitated  to  turn  him  adrift,  and  they 
still  doubted  the  propriety  of  trusting  him  with  money 
and  jewels. 


280  A   SIMPLETON. 

While  matters  were  in  tliis  state  a  remarkable  event 
occurred.  He  drew  a  sick  patient  down  to  the  quay  one 
morning,  and  watched  the  business  of  the  port  with  the 
keenest  interest.  A  ship  at  anchor  was  unloading,  and 
a  great  heavy  boat  was  sticking  to  her  side  like  a  black 
leech.  Presently  this  boat  came  away,  and  moved  slug- 
gishly towards  the  shore,  rather  by  help  of  the  tide  than 
of  the  two  men  who  went  through  the  form  of  propelling 
her  with  two  monstrous  sweeps,  while  a  third  steered  her. 
She  contained  English  goods:  agricultural  implements, 
some  cases,  four  horses,  and  a  buxom  young  woman  with 
a  thorough  English  face.  The  woman  seemed  a  little 
excited,  and  as  she  neared  the  landing-place,  she  called 
out  in  jocund  tones. to  a  young  man  on  the  shore,  "It  is 
all  right,  Dick ;  they  are  beauties,"  and  she  patted  the 
beasts  as  people  do  who  are  fond  of  them. 

She  stepped  lightly  ashore,  and  then  came  the  slower 
work  of  landing  her  imports.  She  bustled  about,  like  a 
hen  over  her  brood,  and  wasn't  always  talking,  but  put 
in  her  word  every  now  and  then,  never  crossly,  and  always 
to  the  point. 

Staines  listened  to  her,  and  examined  her  with  a  sort 
of  puzzled  look;  but  she  took  no  notice  of  him;  her 
whole  soul  was  in  the  cattle. 

They  got  the  things  on  board  well  enough;  but  the 
horses  were  frightened  at  the  gangway,  and  jibbed.  Then 
a  man  was  for  driving  them,  and  poked  one  of  them  in 
the  quarter ;  he  snorted  and  reared  directly. 

"  Man  alive ! "  cried  the  young  woman,  "  that  is  not  the 
way.  They  are  docile  enough,  but  frightened.  Encourage 
'em,  and  let  'em  look  at  it.  Give  'em  time.  More  haste 
less  speed,  with  timorous  cattle." 

"That  is  a  very  pleasant  voice,"  said  poor  Staines, 
rather  more  dictatorially  than  became  the  present  state 
of   his   intellect.      He   added  softly,   "a   true  woman's 


A    SIMPLETON.  281 

voice;"  then  gloomily,  "a  voice  of  tlie  past  —  the  dark, 
dark  past." 

At  this  speech  intruding  itself  upon  the  short  sentences 
of  business,  there  was  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  Phoebe 
Falcon  turned  sharply  round  to  look  at  the  speaker.  She 
stared  at  him  ;  she  cried  "  Oh  ! "  and  clasped  her  hands, 
and  colored  all  over.  "Why,  sure,"  said  she,  "I  can't  be 
mistook.     Those  eyes  —  'tis  you,  doctor,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Doctor  ?  "  said  Staines,  with  a  puzzled  look.  "  Yes  ; 
I  think  they  called  me  doctor  once.  I'm  an  attendant  in 
the  hospital  now." 

"Dick!"  cried  Phoebe,  in  no  little  agitation.  "Come 
here  this  minute." 

"What,  afore  I  get  the  horses  ashore  ?" 

"Ay,  before  you  do  another  thing,  or  say  another  word. 
Come  here,  now."  So  he  came,  and  she  told  him  to  take  a 
good  look  at  the  man.     "Now,"  said  she,  "who  is  that?" 

"  Blest  if  I  know,"  said  he. 

"What,  not  know  the  man  who  saved  your  own  life! 
Oh,  Dick,  what  are  your  eyes  worth  ?  " 

This  discourse  brought  the  few  persons  within  hearing 
into  one  band  of  excited  starers. 

Dick  took  a  good  look,  and  said,  "  I'm  blest  if  I  don't, 
though ;  it  is  the  doctor  that  cut  my  throat." 

This  strange  statement  drew  forth  quite  a  shout  of 
ejaculations. 

"Oh,  better  breathe  through  a  slit  than  not  at  all," 
said  Dick.  "  Saved  my  life  with  that  cut,  he  did,  didn't 
he,  Pheeb  ?  " 

"  That  he  did,  Dick.  Dear  heart,  I  hardly  know  whether 
I  am  in  my  senses  or  not,  seeing  hiin  a-looking  so  blank. 
You  try  him." 

Dick  came  forward.  "  Sure  you  remember  me,  sir. 
Dick  Dale.     You  cut  my  throat,  and  saved  my  life." 

"  Cut  your  throat  I  why,  that  would  kill  you." 


282  A  SIMPLETON. 

"Not  the  way  you  done  it.  Well,  sir,  you  ain't  the 
man  you  was,  that  is  clear ;  but  you  was  a  good  friend 
to  me,  and  there's  my  hand." 

"  Thank  you,  Dick,"  said  Staines,  and  took  his  hand.  "  I 
don't  remember  you.  Perhaps  you  are  one  of  the  past. 
The  past  is  dead  wall  to  me  —  a  dark  dead  wall,"  and  he 
put  his  hands  to  his  head  with  a  look  of  distress. 

Everybody  there  now  suspected  the  truth,  and  some 
pointed  mysteriously  to  their  own  heads. 

Phoebe  whispered  an  inquiry  to  the  sick  person. 

He  said  a  little  pettishly,  "All  I  know  is,  he  is  the 
kindest  attendant  in  the  ward,  and  very  attentive.'^ 

"  Oh,  then,  he  is  in  the  public  hospital." 

"  Of  course  he  is." 

The  invalid,  with  the  selfishness  of  his  class,  then 
begged  Staines  to  take  him  out  of  all  this  bustle  doAvn 
to  the  beach.  Staines  complied  at  once,  with  the  utmost 
meekness,  and  said,  "Good-by,  old  friends;  forgive  me 
for  not  remembering  you.  It  is  my  great  affliction  that 
the  past  is  gone  from  me  —  gone,  gone."  And  he  went 
sadly  away,  drawing  his  sick  charge  like  a  patient  mule. 

Phoebe  Falcon  looked  after  him,  and  began  to  cry. 

"  Nay,  nay,  Phoebe,"  said  Dick ;  "  don't  ye  take  on 
about  it." 

"I  wonder  at  you,"  sobbed  Phoebe.  "Good  people, 
I'm  fonder  of  my  brother  than  he  is  of  himself,  it 
seems ;  for  I  can't  take  it  so  easy.  Well,  the  world  is 
full  of  trouble.  Let  us  do  what  we  are  here  for.  But  I 
shall  pray  for  the  poor  soul  every  night,  that  his  mind 
may  be  given  back  to  him." 

So  then  she  bustled,  and  gave  herself  to  getting  the 
cattle  on  shore,  and  the  things  put  on  board  her  wagon. 

But  when  tliis  was  done,  she  said  to  her  brother, 
"Dick,  I  did  not  think  anything  on  earth  could  take  my 
heart  oft"  the  cattle  and  the  things  we  have  got  from 


A  SDVirLETON.  ^«^ 

home ;  but  I  can't  leave  this  without  going  to  the  hosi)i- 
tal  about  our  poor  dear  doctor :  and  it  is  late  for  making 
a  start,  any  way  —  and  you  mustn't  forget  the  news- 
papers for  Reginald  —  he  is  so  fond  of  them  —  and  you 
must  contrive  to  have  one  sent  out  regular  after  this, 
and  I'll  go  to  the  hospital." 

She  went,  and  saw  the  head  doctor,  and  told  him  he 
had  got  an  attendant  there  she  had  known  in  England 
in  a  very  different  condition,  and  she  had  come  to  see  if 
there  was  anything  she  could  do  for  him  —  for  she  felt 
very  grateful  to  him,  and  grieved  to  see  him  so. 

The  doctor  was  pleased  and  surprised,  and  jjut  several 
questions. 

Then  she  gave  him  a  clear  statement  of  what  he  had 
done  for  Dick  in  England. 

"  Well,"  said  the  doctor,  "  I  believe  it  is  the  same  man ; 
for,  now  you  tell  me  this  —  yes,  one  of  the  nurses  told 
me  he  knew  more  about  medicine  than  she   did.     His 
name,  if  you  please." 
"  His  name,  sir  ?  " 

"  Yes,  his  name.  Of  course  you  know  his  name.  Is 
it  Christie  ?  " 

"Doctor,"  said  Phoebe,  blushing,  "I  don't  know  what 
you  will  think  of  me,  but  I  don't  know  his  name.     Laws 
forgive  me,  I  never  had  the  sense  to  ask  it." 
A  shade  of  suspicion  crossed  the  doctor's  face. 
Phoebe  saw  it,  and  colored  to  the  temples.     "  Oh,  sir," 
she  cried  piteously,  "  don't  go  for  to  think  I  have  told 
you  a  lie  !  why  should  I  ?  and  indeed  I  am  not  of  that 
sort,  nor  Dick  neither.     Sir,  I'll  bring  him  to  you,  and 
he  will  say  the  same.     Well,  we  were  all  in  terror  and 
confusion,  and  I  met  him   accidentally   in   the   street. 
He  was  only  a  customer  till  then,  and  paid  ready  money, 
BO  that  is  how  I  never  knev/  his  name,  but  if  I  hadn't 
been  the  greatest  fool  in  England,  I  should  have  asked 
his  wife." 


284  A   SIMPLETON. 

"What!  he  has  a  wife?" 

"  Ay,  sir,  the  loveliest  lady  you  ever  clapped  eyes  on, 
and  he  is  almost  as  handsome  ;  has  eyes  in  his  head  like 
jewels ;  'twas  by  them  I  knew  him  on  the  quay,  and  I 
think  he  knew  my  voice  again,  said  as  good  as  he  had 
heard  it  in  past  times." 

"  Did  he  ?  Then  we  have  got  him,"  cried  the  doctor 
energetically. 

"  La,  sir." 

"Yes;  if  he  knows  your  voice,  you  will  be  able  in 
time  to  lead  his  memory  back ;  at  least,  I  think  so.  Do 
you  live  in  Cape  Town  ?  " 

"  Dear  heart,  no.  I  live  at  my  own  farm,  a  hundred 
and  eighty  miles  from  this." 

"  What  a  pity  ! " 

"Why,  sir?" 

"Well— hum!" 

"  Oh,  if  you  think  I  could  do  the  poor  doctor  good  by 
having  him  with  me,  you  have  only  to  say  the  word,  and 
out  he  goes  with  Dick  and  me  to-morrow  morning.  We 
should  have  started  for  home  to-night,  but  for  this." 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  madam  ?  "  said  the  doctor,  open- 
ing his  eyes.  "  Would  you  really  encumber  yourself  with 
a  person  whose  reason  is  in  suspense,  and  may  never 
return  ?  " 

"But  that  is  not  his  fault,  sir.  Why,  if  a  dog  had 
saved  my  brother's  life,  I'd  take  it  home,  and  keep  it  all 
its  days  ;  and  this  is  a  man,  and  a  worthy  man.  Oh,  sir, 
Avlien  I  saw  him  brought  down  so,  and  his  beautiful  eyes 
clouded  like,  my  very  bosom  yearned  over  the  poor  soul ; 
a  kind  act  done  in  dear  old  England,  who  can  see  the 
man  in  trouble  here,  and  not  repay  it  —  ay,  if  it  cost 
one's  blood.  But  indeed  he  is  strong  and  healthy,  and 
hands  are  always  scarce  our  way,  and  the  odds  are 
he   will   earn   his  meat  one  way  or   t'other;  and  if  he 


A   SIMPLETON.  285 

doesn't,  why,  all  the  better  for  me  ;  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  serving  him  for  nought  that  once  served  me 
for  neither  money  nor  reward." 

"  You  are  a  good  woman,"  said  the  doctor  warmly. 

"  There's  better,  and  there's  worse,"  said  Phoebe 
quietly,  and  even  a  little  coldly. 

"  More  of  the  latter,"  said  the  doctor  dryly.  "  Well, 
Mrs. ?  " 

"  Falcon,  sir." 

"  We  shall  hand  him  over  to  your  care :  but  first  — 
just  for  form  —  if  you  are  a  married  woman,  we  should 
like  to  see  Dick  here  :  he  is  your  husband,  I  presume." 

Phoebe  laughed  merrily.  "  Dick  is  my  brother ;  and 
he  can't  be  spared  to  come  here.  Dick  !  he'd  say  black 
was  white  if  I  told  him  to." 

"Then  let  us  see  your  husband  about  it  —  just  for 
form." 

"  My  husband  is  at  the  farm.  I  could  not  venture  so 
far  away,  and  not  leave  him  in  charge."  If  she  ha,d 
said,  "  I  will  not  bring  him  into  temptation,"  that  would 
have  been  nearer  the  truth.  "  Let  that  fly  stick  on  the 
wall,  sir.     What  I  do,  my  husband  will  approve.'^ 

"  I  see  how  it  is.     You  rule  the  roost." 

Phoebe  did  not  reply  point-blank  to  that ;  she  merely 
said,  "  All  my  chickens  are  happy,  great  and  small,"  and 
an  expression  of  lofty,  womanly,  innocent  pride  illu- 
minated her  face  and  made  it  superb  for  a  moment. 

In  short,  it  was  settled  that  Staines  should  accompany 
her  next  morning  to  Dale's  Kloof  Farm,  if  he  chose. 
On  inquiry,  it  appeared  that  he  had  just  returned  to  the 
hospital  with  his  patient.  He  was  sent  for,  and  Phoebe 
asked  him  sweetly  if  he  would  go  with  her  to  her  house, 
one  hundred  and  eighty  miles  away,  and  she  woidd  be 
kind  to  him. 

"  On  the  water  ?  " 


286  A   SIjSIPLETON. 

"  Nay,  by  land ;  but  'tis  a  fine  country,  and  you  will 
see  beautiful  deer  and  things  running  across  tlie  plains, 
and"  — 

"  Shall  I  find  the  past  again,  the  past  again  ?  " 

"  Ay,  poor  soul,  that  we  shall,  God  willing.  You  and 
I,  we  will  hunt  it  together." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  gave  her  his  hand.  "  I  will  go 
with  you.  Your  face  belongs  to  the  past,  so  does  your 
voice." 

He  then  inquired,  rather  abruptly,  had  she  any  chil- 
dren.    She  smiled. 

"  Ay,  that  I  have,  the  loveliest  little  boy  you  ever  saw. 
When  you  are  as  you  used  to  be,  you  will  be  his  doctor, 
won't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will  nurse  him,  and  you  will  help  me  find  the 
past." 

Phoebe  then  begged  Staines  to  be  ready  to  start  at  six 
in  the  morning.  She  and  Dick  would  take  him  up  on 
their  Avay. 

While  she  was  talking  to  him  the  doctor  sli2)ped  out, 
and  to  tell  the  truth  he  went  to  consult  with  another 
authority,  whether  he  should  take  this  opportunity  of 
telling  Staines  that  he  had  money  and  jewels  at  the 
bank :  he  himself  was  half  inclined  to  do  so ;  but  the 
other,  who  had  not  seen  Phoebe's  face,  advised  him  to  do 
nothing  of  the  kind.  "  They  are  always  short  of  money, 
these  colonial  farmers,"  said  he ;  "  she  Avould  get  every 
shilling  out  of  him." 

"  Most  would  ;  but  this  is  such  an  honest  face." 

"  Well,  but  she  is  a  mother,  you  say." 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  what  mother  could  be  just  to  a  lunatic,  with 
her  own  sweet  angel  babes  to  provide  for  ?  " 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Dr. .     "  Maternal  love  is  apt 

to  modify  the  conscience." 


A     SIMPLETON.  287 

"  What  I  would  do,  —  I  would  take  her  address,  and 
make  her  promise  to  write  if  he  gets  well,  and  if  he  does 
get  well  then  write  to  hlniy  and  tell  him  all  about  it." 

Dr. acted  on  this  shrewd  advice,  and  ordered  a 

bundle  to  be  made  up  for  the  traveller  out  of  the  hos- 
pital stores :  it  contained  a  nice  light  summer  suit  and 
two  changes  of  linen. 


288  A   SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Next  morning,  Staines  and  Dick  Dale  walked  tlirougli 
the  streets  of  Cape  Town  side  by  side.  Dick  felt  tlie 
uneasiness  of  a  sane  man,  not  familiar  witli  tlie  mentally 
afEicted,  who  suddenly  finds  himself  alone  with  one. 
Insanity  turns  men  oftenest  into  sheep  and  hares ;  but  it 
does  now  and  then  make  them  wolves  and  tigers ;  and  that 
has  saddled  the  insane  in  general  with  a  character  for 
ferocity.  Young  Dale,  then,  cast  many  a  suspicious 
glance  at  his  comrade,  as  he  took  him  along.  These 
glances  were  reassuring:  Christopher's  face  had  no 
longer  the  mobility,  the  expressive  changes,  that  mark 
the  superior  mind ;  his  countenance  was  monotonous  : 
but  the  one  expression  was  engaging ;  there  was  a  sweet, 
patient,  lamb-like  look :  the  glorious  eye  a  little  troubled 
and  perplexed,  but  wonderfully  mild.  Dick  Dale  looked 
and  looked,  and  his  uneasiness  vanished.  And  the  more 
he  looked,  the  more  did  a  certain  wonder  creep  over  him, 
and  make  him  scarce  believe  the  thing  he  knew;  viz., 
that  a  learned  doctor  had  saved  him  from  the  jaws  of 
death  by  rare  knowledge,  sagacity,  courage,  and  skill 
combined :  and  that  mighty  man  of  wisdom  was  brought 
down  to  this  lamb,  and  would  go  north,  south,  east,  or 
west,  with  sweet  and  perfect  submission,  even  as  he, 
Dick  Dale,  should  appoint.  With  these  reflections  honest 
Dick  felt  his  eyes  get  a  little  misty,  and,  to  use  those 
words  of  Scripture,  which  nothing  can  surpass  or  equal, 
his  bowels  yearned  over  the  man. 

As  for  Christopher,  he  looked  straight  forward,  and 
said  not  a  word  till  they  cleared  the  town ;  but  when  he 


A  SIMPLETON.  289 

saw  the  Vcast  flowery  vale,  and  the  far-off  violet  hills, 
like  Scotland  glorified,  he  turned  to  Dick  with  an 
ineffable  expression  of  sweetness  and  good  fellowship, 
and  said,  "  Oh,  beautiful !    We'll  hunt  the  past  together." 

(( We  —  will  —  50,"  said  Dick,  with  a  sturdy  and  indeed 
almost  a  stern  resolution. 

Now,  this  he  said,  not  that  he  cared  for  the  past,  nor 
intended  to  waste  the  present  by  going  upon  its  prede- 
cessor's trail ;  but  he  had  come  to  a  resolution  —  full 
three  minutes  ago — to  humor  his  companion  to  the  top 
of  his  bent,  and  say  "Yes"  with  hypocritical  vigor  to 
everything  not  directly  and  immediately  destructive  to 
him  and  his. 

The  next  moment  they  turned  a  corner  and  came  upon 
the  rest  of  their  party,  hitherto  hidden  by  the  apricot 
hedge  and  a  turning  in  the  road.  A  blue-black  Kafir, 
with  two  yellow  Hottentot  drivers,  man  and  boy,  was 
harnessing,  in  the  most  primitive  mode,  four  horses  on 
to  the  six  oxen  attached  to  the  wagon ;  and  the  horses 
were  flattening  their  ears,  and  otherwise  resenting  the 
incongruity.  Meantime  a  fourth  figure,  a  colossal  young 
Kafir  woman,  looked  on  superior  with  folded  armS;,  like 
a  sable  Juno  looking  down  with  that  absolute  composure 
upon  the  struggles  of  man  and  other  animals,  which 
Lucretius  and  his  master  Epicurus  assigned  to  the 
Divine  nature.  Without  jesting,  the  grandeur,  majesty, 
and  repose  of  this  figure  were  unsurpassable  in  nature, 
and  such  as  have  vanished  from  sculpture  two  thousand 
years  and  more. 

Dick  Dale  joined  the  group  immediately,  and  soon 
arranged  the  matter.  Meantime,  Phoebe  descended  from 
the  wagon,  and  welcomed  Christopher  very  kindly,  and 
asked  him  if  he  would  like  to  sit  beside  her,  or  to 
walk. 

He  glanced  into  the  wagon ;  it  was  covered  and  cur- 


290  A   SIMPLETON. 

tainecl,  and  cLark  as  a  cupboard.     "I  think,"  said  lie, 
timidly,  "  I  shall  see  more  of  the  past  out  here." 

"  So  you  will,  poor  soul,"  said  Phoebe  kindly,  "  and 
better  for  your  health :  but  you  must  not  go  far  from  the 
wagon,  for  I'm  a  fidget ;  and  I  have  got  the  care  of 
3^ou  now,  you  know,  for  want  of  a  better.  Come,  Ucatella ; 
you  must  ride  with  me,  and  help  me  sort  the  things; 
they  are  all  higgledy-piggledy."  So  those  two  got  into 
the  wagon  through  the  back  curtains.  Then  the  Kafir 
driver  flourished  his  kambok,  or  long  whip,  in  the  air, 
and  made  it  crack  like  a  pistol,  and  the  horses  reared, 
and  the  oxen  started  and  slowly  bored  in  between  them, 
for  they  whinnied,  and  kicked,  and  spread  out  like  a  fan 
all  over  the  road ;  but  a  flick  or  two  from  the  terrible 
kambok  soon  sent  them  bleeding  and  trembling  and 
rubbing  shoulders,  and  the  oxen,  mildly  but  persistently 
goring  their  recalcitrating  haunches,  the  intelligent 
animals  went  ahead,  and  revenged  themselves  by 
breaking  the  harness.  But  that  goes  for  little  in  Cape 
travel. 

'Jthe  body  of  the  wagon  was  long  and  low  and  very 
stout.  The  tilt  strong  and  tight-made.  The  roof  inside, 
and  most  of  the  sides,  lined  with  green  baize.  Curtains 
of  the  same  to  the  little  window  and  the  back.  There 
was  a  sort  of  hold  literally  built  full  of  purchases  ;  a  small 
fireproof  safe;  huge  blocks  of  salt;  saws,  axes,  pick- 
axes, adzes,  flails,  tools  innumerable,  bales  of  wool  and 
linen  stuff,  hams,  and  two  hundred  empty  sacj^s  strewn 
over  all.  In  large  pigeon-holes  fixed  to  the  sides  were 
light  goods,  groceries,  collars,  glaring  cotton  handker- 
chiefs for  Phoebe's  aboriginal  domestics,  since  not  every 
year  did  she  go  to  Cape  Town,  a  twenty  days'  journey 
by  wagon  :  things  dangled  from  the  very  roof ;  but  no 
hard  goods  there,  if  you  please,  to  batter  one's  head  in  a 
spill.   Outside  were  latticed  grooves  with  tent,  tent-poles, 


A   SIMPLETON.  291 

and  rifles.  Great  pieces  of  cork,  and  bags  of  hay  and 
corn,  liung  dangling  from  mighty  hooks  —  tlie  latter  to 
feed  the  cattle,  should  they  be  compelled  to  camp  out  on 
some  sterile  spot  on  the  Veldt,  and  methinks  to  act  as 
buffers,  should  the  whole  concern  roll  down  a  nullah  <jr 
little  precipice,  no  very  uncommon  incident  in  the  blessed 
region  they  must  pass  to  reach  Dale's  Kloof. 

Harness  mended;  fresh  start.  The  Hottentots  and 
Kafir  vociferated  and  yelled,  and  made  the  unearthly 
row  of  a  dozen  wild  beasts  wrangling :  the  horses  drew 
the  bullocks,  they  the  wagon ;  it  crawled  and  creaked, 
and  its  appendages  wobbled  finely. 

Slowly  they  creaked  and  wobbled  past  apricot  hedges 
and  detached  houses  and  huts,  and  got  into  an  open 
country  without  a  tree,  but  here  and  there  a  stunted 
camel-thorn.  The  soil  was  arid,  and  grew  little  food  for 
man  or  beast ;  yet,  by  a  singular  freak  of  nature,  it  put 
forth  abundantly  things  that  here  at  home  we  find  it 
harder  to  raise  than  homely  grass  and  oats  ;  the  ground 
was  thickly  clad  with  flowers  of  delightful  hues  ;  pyra- 
mids of  snow  or  rose-color  bordered  the  track ;  yellow 
and  crimson  stars  bejewelled  the  ground,  and  a  thousand 
bulbous  plants  burst  into  all  imaginable  colors,  and 
spread  a  rainbow  carpet  to  the  foot  of  the  violet  hills ; 
and  all  this  glowed,  and  gleamed,  and  glittered  in  a  sun 
shining  with  incredible  brightness  and  purity  of  light, 
but,  somehow,  without  giving  a  headache  or  making  the 
air  sultry. 

Christopher  fell  to  gathering  flowers,  and  interrogating 
the  past  by  means  of  them  ;  for  he  had  studied  botany  : 
the  past  gave  him  back  some  pitiably  vague  ideas.  He 
sighed.  "Never  mind,"  said  he  to  Dick,  and  tapped  his 
forehead :  "  it  is  here  :  it  is  only  locked  up." 

"  All  right,"  said  Dick  j  "  nothing  is  lost  when  you 
know  where  'tis." 


292  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  This  is  a  beautiful  country/'  suggested  Christoplier. 
"  It  is  all  flowers.  It  is  like  the  garden  of  —  the  garden 
of  —  locked  up." 

"It  is  de — light — ful,"  replied  the  self -compelled 
optimist  sturdily.  But  here  nature  gave  way ;  he  was 
obliged  to  relieve  his  agricultural  bile  by  getting  into 
the  cart  and  complaining  to  his  sister.  "  'Twill  take  us 
all  our  time  to  cure  him.  He  have  been  bepraising  this 
here  soil,  which  it  is  only  fit  to  clean  the  women's  kettles. 
'Twouldn't  feed  three  larks  to  an  acre,  I  know ;  no,  nor 
half  so  iiianyP 

"  Poor  soul !  mayhap  the  flowers  have  took  his  eye.  Sit 
here  a  bit,  Dick.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  a  many 
things." 

While  these  two  were  conversing,  Ucatella,  who  was 
very  fond  of  Phoebe,  but  abhorred  wagons,  stepped  out 
and  stalked  by  the  side,  like  an  ostrich,  a  camelopard,  or 
a  Taglioni ;  nor  did  the  effort  with  which  she  subdued 
her  stride  to  the  pace  of  the  procession  appear :  it  was 
the  poetry  of  walking.  Christopher  admired  it  a  moment ; 
but  the  noble  expanse  tempted  him,  and  he  strode  forth 
like  a  giant,  his  lungs  inflating  in  the  glorious  air,  and 
soon  left  the  wagon  far  behind. 

The  consequence  w^as  that  when  they  came  to  a  halt, 
and  Dick  and  Phoebe  got  out  to  release  and  water  the 
cattle,  there  w^as  Christopher's  figure  retiring  into 
space. 

"Hanc  rem  segre  tulit  Phoebe,"  as  my  old  friend  Livy 
would  say.  "  Oh  dear !  oh  dear  !  if  he  strays  so  far  from 
us,  he  will  be  eaten  up  at  nightfall  by  jackals,  or  lions, 
or  something.     One  of  you  must  go  after  him." 

"  Me  go,  missy,"  said  Ucatella  zealously,  pleased  with 
an  excuse  for  stretching  her  magnificent  limbs. 

"Ay,  but  mayhap  he  will  not  come  back  with  you: 
will  he,  Dick  ?  " 


A   SIMPLETON.  293 

"  That  he  will,  like  a  lamb."  Dick  wanted  to  look 
after  the  cattle. 

"  Yiike,  my  girl,"  said  Phoebe,  "  listen.  He  has  been 
a  good  friend  of  ours  in  trouble ;  and  now  he  is  not  quite 
right  liere.  So  be  very  kind  to  him,  but  be  sure  and 
bring  him  back,  or  keep  him  till  we  come." 

"  Me  bring  him  back  alive,  certain  sure,"  said  Ucatella, 
smiling  from  ear  to  ear.  She  started  with  a  sudden  glide, 
like  a  boat  taking  the  water,  and  appeared  almost  to 
saunter  away,  so  easy  was  the  motion ;  but  when  you 
looked  at  the  ground  she  was  covering,  the  stride,  or 
glide,  or  whatever  it  was,  was  amazing. 

*♦  She  seem'd  in  walking  to  devour  the  way." 

Christopher  walked  fast,  but  nothing  like  this ;  and  as 
he  stopped  at  times  to  botanize  and  gaze  at  the  violet 
hills,  and  interrogate  the  past,  she  came  up  with  him 
about  five  miles  from  the  halting-place. 

She  laid  her  hand  quietly  on  his  shoulder,  and  said, 
with  a  broad  genial  smile,  and  a  musical  chuckle,  "  Uca- 
tella come  for  you.     Missy  want  to  speak  you." 

"  Oh !  very  well ; "  and  he  turned  back  with  her, 
directly  5  but  she  took  him  by  the  hand  to  make  sure ; 
and  they  marched  back  peaceably,  in  silence,  and  hand 
in  hand.  But  he  looked  and  looked  at  her,  and  at  last 
he  stopped  dead  short,  and  said,  a  little  arrogantly, 
"  Come,  I  know  you.  You  are  not  locked  up ; "  and  he 
inspected  her  point-blank.  She  stood  like  an  antique 
statue,  and  faced  the  examination.  "  You  are  '  the  noble 
savage,' "  said  he,  having  concluded  his  inspection. 

"  Nay,"  said  she.     "  I  be  the  housemaid." 

"The  housemaid?" 

"Iss,  the  housemaid,  Ucatella.  So  come  on."  And 
she  drew  him  along,  sore  perplexed. 


294  A  SIMPLETON. 

Tlio}^  met  the  cavalcade  a  mile  from  tlie  halting-place, 
and  Phoebe  apologized  a  little  to  Cliristopher.  "  I  hope 
you'll  excuse  me,  sir,"  said  she,  ''but  I  am  just  for  all 
the  world  like  a  hen  with  her  chickens;  if  but  one 
strays,  I'm  all  in  a  flutter  till  I  get  him  back." 

"  Madam,"  said  Christoj^her,  "  I  am  very  unhappy  at 
the  way  things  are  locked  up.  Please  tell  me  truly,  is 
this  '  the  housemaid,'  or  '  the  noble  savage '  ?  " 

"Well,  she  is  both,  if  you  go  to  that,  and  the  best 
creature  ever  breathed." 

"  Then  she  is  '  the  noble  savage '  ?  " 

"  Ay,  so  they  call  her,  because  she  is  black." 

"  Then,  thank  Heaven,'^  said  Christopher,  "  the  past  is 
not  all  locked  up." 

That  afternoon  they  stopped  at  an  inn.  But  Dick 
slept  in  the  cart.  At  three  in  the  morning  they  took 
the  road  again,  and  creaked  along  supernaturally  loud 
under  a  purple  firmament  studded  with  huge  stars,  all 
bright  as  moons,  that  lit  the  way  quite  clear,  and  showed 
black  things  innumerable  flitting  to  and  fro ;  these  made 
Phoebe  shudder,  but  were  no  doubt  harmless ;  still  Dick 
carried  his  double  rifle,  and  a  revolver  in  his  belt. 

They  made  a  fine  march  in  the  cool,  until  some  slight 
mists  gathered,  and  then  they  halted  and  breakfasted 
near  a  silvery  kloof,  and  watered  the  cattle.  While  thus 
employed,  suddenly  a  golden  tinge  seemed  to  fall  like  a 
lash  on  the  vapors  of  night ;  they  scudded  away  directly, 
as  jackals  before  the  lion;  the  stars  paled,  and  with  one 
incredible  bound,  the  mighty  sun  leaped  into  the  horizon, 
and  rose  into  the  sky.  In  a  moment  all  the  lesser  lamps 
of  heaven  were  out,  though  late  so  glorious,  and  there 
was  nothing  but  one  vast  vaulted  turquoise,  and  a  great 
flaming  topaz  mounting  with  eternal  ardor  to  its 
centre. 

This  did  not  escape  Christopher.     "What  is  this?" 


A   SIIVfTLETON.  295 

said  ho.     "No   twiliglit.     The  tropics!"     He  managed 
to  dig  that  word  out  of  the  past  in  a  moment. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  sun  was  so  hot  that  they  halted,  and 
let  the  oxen  loose  till  sun-down.  Then  they  began  to 
climb  the  mountains. 

The  way  was  steep  and  rugged ;  indeed,  so  rough  in 
places,  that  the  cattle  had  to  jump  over  the  holes,  and  as 
the  wagon  could  not  jump  so  cleverly,  it  jolted  appall- 
ingly, and  many  a  scream  issued  forth. 

Near  the  summit,  when  the  poor  beasts  were  dead 
beat,  they  got  into  clouds  and  storms,  and  the  wind 
rushed  howling  at  them  through  the  narrow  pass  with 
such  fury  it  flattened  the  horses'  ears,  and  bade  fair  to 
sweep  the  whole  cavalcade  to  the  plains  below. 

Christopher  and  Dick  walked  close  behind,  under  the 
lee  of  the  wagon.  Christopher  said  in  Dick's  ear,  "  D'ye 
hear  that  ?     Time  to  reef  topsails,  captain." 

"It  is  time  to  do  somethlng,^^  said  Dick.  He  took 
advantage  of  a  jutting  rock,  drew  the  wagon  half  behind 
it  and  across  the  road,  propped  the  wheels  with  stones, 
and  they  all  huddled  to  leeward,  man  and  beast  indis- 
criminately. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Christopher,  approvingly ;  "  we  are  lying 
to  :  a  ver}^  —  proper  —  course." 

They  huddled  and  shivered  three  hours,  and  then  the 
sun  leaped  into  the  sky,  and  lo  !  a  transformation  scene. 
The  cold  clouds  were  first  rosy  fleeces,  then  golden  ones, 
then  gold-dust,  then  gone ;  the  rain  was  big  diamonds, 
then  crystal  sparks,  then  gone ;  the  rocks  and  the  bushes 
sparkled  with  gem-like  drops,  and  shone  and  smiled. 

The  shivering  party  bustled,  and  toasted  the  potent 
luminary  in  hot  coffee ;  for  Phoebe's  wagon  had  a  stove 
and  chimney ;  and  then  they  yoked  their  miscellaneous 
cattle  again,  and  breasted  the  hill.  With  many  a  jump, 
and  bump,  and  jolt,  and  scream  from  inside,  they  reached 


29G  '  A   SEMPLETON. 

the  summit,  and  looked  down  on  a  vast  slope,  flowering 
but  arid,  a  region  of  gaudy  sterility. 

The  descent  was  more  tremendous  than  the  ascent, 
and  Phoebe  got  out,  and  told  Christopher  she  w^ould 
liever  cross  the  ocean  twice  than  this  dreadful  mountain 
once. 

The  Hottentot  with  the  reins  was  now  bent  like  a  bow 
all  the  time,  keeping  the  cattle  from  flowing  diverse  over 
precipices,  and  the  Kafir  with  his  kambok  was  here,  and 
there,  and  everywhere,  his  whip  flicking  like  a  lancet, 
and  cracking  like  a  horse-pistol,  and  the  pair  vied  like 
Apollo  and  Pan,  not  which  could  sing  sweetest,  but  swear 
loudest.  Having  the  lofty  hill  for  some  hours  between 
tliem  and  the  sun,  they  bumped,  and  jolted,  and  stuck  in 
mud-holes,  and  flogged  and  swore  the  cattle  out  of  them 
again,  till  at  last  they  got  to  the  bottom,  where  ran  a 
turbid  kloof  or  stream.  It  was  fordable,  but  the  recent 
rains  had  licked  away  the  slope ;  so  the  existing  bank 
was  two  feet  above  the  stream.  Little  recked  the  demon 
drivers  or  the  parched  cattle ;  in  they  plunged  promiscu- 
ously, with  a  flop  like  thunder,  followed  by  an  awful 
splashing.  The  wagon  stuck  fast  in  the  mud,  the  horses 
tied  themselves  in  a  knot,  and  rolled  about  in  the  stream, 
and  the  oxen  drank  imperturbably. 

"  Oh,  the  salt !  the  salt ! "  screamed  Phoebe,  and  the 
rocks  re-echoed  her  lamentations. 

The  wagon  was  inextricable,  the  cattle  done  up,  the 
savages  lazy,  so  they  stayed  for  several  hours.  Chris- 
topher botanized,  but  not  alone.  Phoebe  drew  Ucatella 
apart,  and  explained  to  her  that  when  a  man  is  a  little 
wrong  in  the  head,  it  makes  a  child  of  him  :  "  So,"  said 
she,  "  you  must  think  he  is  your  child,  and  never  let  him 
out  of  your  sight." 

"All  right,"  said  the  sable  Juno,  who  spoke  English 
ridiculously  well,  and  rapped  out  idioms  j  especially 
*^  Come  on,"  and  "  All  right." 


A   SIMPLETON.  297 

About  dusk,  what  the  drivers  had  foreseen,  though 
tliey  had  not  the  sense  to  explain  it,  took  place  ;  the 
kloof  dwindled  to  a  mere  gutter,  and  the  wagon  stuck 
high  and  dry.  Phoebe  waved  her  handkerchief  to  Uca- 
tella.  Ucatella,  who  had  dogged  Christopher  about  four 
hours  without  a  word,  now  took  his  hand,  and  said,  "  My 
child,  missy  wants  us ;  come  on ; "  and  so  led  him  unre- 
sistingly. 

The  drivers,  flogging  like  devils,  cursing  like  troopers, 
and  yelling  like  hyenas  gone  mad,  tried  to  get  the  wagon 
off ;  but  it  was  fast  as  a  rock.  Then  Dick  and  the  Hot- 
tentot put  their  shoulders  to  one  wheel,  and  tried  to 
prise  it  up,  while  the  Kafir  encouraged  the  cattle  with 
his  thong.  Observing  this,  Christopher  went  in,  with 
his  sable  custodian  at  his  heels,  and  heaved  at  the  other 
embedded  wheel.  The  wagon  Avas  lifted  directly,  so  that 
the  cattle  tugged  it  out,  and  they  got  clear.  On  examin- 
ation, the  salt  had  just  escaped. 

Says  Ucatella  to  Phoebe,  a  little  ostentatiously,  "My 
child  is  strong  and  useful ;  make  little  missy  a  good 
slave."  ' 

"  A  slave !  Heaven  forbid  !  "  said  Phoebe.  "  He'll  be 
a  father  to  us  all,  once  he  gets  his  head  back ;  and  I  do 
think  it  is  coming  —  but  very  slow." 

The  next  three  days  offered  the  ordinary  incidents  of 
African  travel,  but  nothing  that  operated  much  on  Chris- 
topher's mind,  which  is  the  true  point  of  this  narrative ; 
and  as  there  are  many  admirable  books  of  African  travel, 
it  is  the  more  proper  I  should  confine  myself  to  what 
may  be  called  the  relevant  incidents  of  the  journey. 

On  the  sixth  day  from  Cape  Town,  they  came  up  with 
a  large  wagon  stuck  in  a  mud-hole.  There  was  quite  a 
party  of  Boers,  Hottentots,  Kafirs,  round  it,  armed  with 
whips,  shamboks,  and  oaths,  lashing  and  cursing  without 
intermission,  or  any  good   effect;    and   there  were  the 


298  A   SIMPLETON. 

wretched  beasts  straining  in  vain  at  their  choking  yokes, 
moaning  with  anguish,  trembling  with  terror,  tlieir  poor 
mikl  eyes  dilated  with  agony  and  fear,  and  often,  when 
the  blows  of  the  cruel  shamboks  cut  open  their  bleeding 
flesh,  they  bellowed  to  Heaven  their  miserable  and  vain 
23rotest  against  this  devil's  Avork. 

Then  the  past  opened  its  stores,  and  lent  Christopher 
a  word. 

"  Barbarians  ! "  he  roared,  and  seized  a  gigantic  Kafir 
by  the  throat,  just  as  his  shambok  descended  for  the 
hundredth  time.  There  was  a  mighty  struggle,  as  of 
two  Titans ;  dust  flew  round  the  combatants  in  a  cloud ; 
a  whirling  of  big  bodies,  and  down  they  both  went  with 
an  awful  thud,  the  Saxon  uppermost,  by  Nature's  law. 

The  Kafir's  companions,  amazed  at  first,  began  to  roll 
their  eyes  and  draw  a  knife  or  two  ;  but  Dick  ran  for 
ward,  and  said,  "  Don't  hurt  him  :  he  is  wrong  Aere." 

This  representation  pacified  them  more  readily  than 
one  might  have  expected.  Dick  added  hastily,  "We'll 
get  you  out  of  the  hole  our  way,  and  cry  quits." 

The  proposal  was  favorably  received,  and  the  next 
minute  Christopher  and  Ucatella  at  one  wheel, 'and  Dick 
and  the  Hottentot  at  the  other,  with  no  other  help  than 
two  pointed  iron  bars  bought  for  their  shepherds,  had 
effected  what  sixteen  oxen  could  not.  To  do  this  Dick 
Dale  had  bared  his  arm  to  the  shoulder;  it  was  a, 
stalwart  limb,  like  his  sister's,  and  he  now  held  it  out  all 
swollen  and  corded,  and  slapped  it  Avith  his  other  hand. 
"  Look'ee  here,  you  chaps,"  said  he  :  "  the  worst  use  a  man 
can  put  that  there  to  is  to  go  cutting  out  a  poor  beast's 
heart  for  not  doing  more  than  he  can.  You  are  good 
fellows,  you  Kafirs ;  but  I  think  you  have  sworn  never 
to  put  your  shoulder  to  a  wheel.  But,  bless  your  poor 
silly  hearts,  a  little  strength  put  on  at  the  right  place  is 
better  than  a  deal  at  the  wrong." 


A   SIMPLETON.  299 

"  You  hear  that,  you  Kafir  chaps  ?  "  inquired  Ucatella, 
a  little  arrogantly  —  for  a  Kafir. 

The  Kafirs,  who  had  stood  quite  silent  to  imbibe  these 
remarks,  bowed  their  heads  with  all  the  dignity  and 
politeness  of  Roman  senators,  Spanish  grandees,  etc. ; 
and  one  of  the  party  replied  gravely,  "  The  words  of  the 
white  man  are  always  wise." 

"  And  his  arm  blanked  ^  strong,"  said  Christopher's  late 
opponent,  from  whose  mind,  however,  all  resentment  had 
vanished. 

Thus  spake  the  Kafirs ;  yet  to  this  day  never  hath  a 
man  of  all  their  tribe  put  his  shoulder  to  a  wheel,  so 
strong  is  custom  in  South  Africa ;  probably  in  all  Africa ; 
since  I  remember  St.  Augustin  found  it  stronger  than  he 
liked,  at  Carthage. 

Ucatella  went  to  Phoebe,  and  said,  "  Missy,  my  child  is 
good  and  brave." 

"  Bother  you  and  your  child  ! "  said  poor  Phoebe.  "  To 
think  of  his  flying  at  a  giant  like  that,  and  you  letting 
of  him.  I'm  all  of  a  tremble  from  head  to  foot : "  and 
Phoebe  relieved  herself  with  a  cry. 

"  Oh,  missy  ! "  said  Ucatella. 

"  There,  never  mind  me.  Do  go  and  look  after  your 
child,  and  keep  him  out  of  more  mischief.  I  wish  we 
were  safe  at  Dale's  Kloof,  I  do." 

Ucatella  complied,  and  went  botanizing  with  Dr. 
Staines ;  but  that  gentleman,  in  the  course  of  his  scien- 
tific researches  into  camomile  flowers  and  blasted  heath, 
which  were  all  that  lovely  region  afforded,  suddenly  suc- 
cumbed and  stretched  out  his  limbs,  and  said,  sleepily, 
"  Good-night  —  U — cat — "  and  was  off  into  the  land  of 
Xod. 

The  w^agon,  which,  by  the  wa}',  had  passed  the  larger 

1  I  take  tliis  very  useful  expression  from  a  delightful  volume  by  Sir. 
Boyle. 


300  A   SIMPLETON. 

Init  slower  veliicle,  found  him  fast  asleep,  and  Ucatella 
standing  by  liini  as  ordered,  motionless  and  grand. 

"  Oh,  dear  !  Avhat  now  ?  "  said  Phoebe  :  but  being  a 
sensible  woman,  though  in  the  hen  and  chickens  line, 
she  said,  "  'Tis  the  fighting  and  the  excitement.  'Twill 
do  him  more  good  than  harm,  I  think : "  and  she  had 
him  bestowed  in  the  wagon,  and  never  disturbed  him 
night  nor  day.  He  slept  thirty-six  hours  at  a  stretch ; 
and  when  he  awoke,  she  noticed  a  slight  change  in  liis 
eye.  He  looked  at  her  with  an  interest  he  had  not 
shown  before,  and  said,  "Madam,  I  know  you." 

"Thank  God  for  that,"  said  Phoebe. 

"  You  kept  a  little  shop,  in  the  other  world." 

Phoebe  opened  her  eyes  with  some  little  alarm. 

"  You  understand  —  the  world  that  is  locked  up  —  for 
the  present." 

"Well,  sir,  so  I  did;  and  sold  you  milk  and  butter. 
Don't  you  mind  ?  " 

"No  —  the  milk  and  butter  —  they  are  locked  up." 

The  country  became  wilder,  the  signs  of  life  miserably 
sparse  ;  about  every  twenty  miles  the  farmhouse  or  hut 
of  a  degenerate  Boer,  whose  children  and  slaves  pigged 
together,  and  all  ran  jostling,  and  the  mistress  screamed 
in  her  shrill  Dutch,  and  the  Hottentots  all  chirped 
together,  and  confusion  reigned  for  want  of  method : 
often  they  went  miles,  and  saw  nothing  but  a  hut  or 
two,  with  a  nude  Hottentot  eating  flesh,  burnt  a  little, 
but  not  cooked,  at  the  door ;  and  the  kloofs  became 
deeper  and  more  turbid,  and  Phoebe  was  in  an  agony 
about  her  salt,  and  Christopher  advised  her  to  break  it 
in  big  lumps,  and  hang  it  all  about  the  wagon  in  sacks  ; 
and  she  did,  and  Ucatella  said  profoundly,  "  My  child  is 
wise ;  "  and  they  began  to  draw  near  home,  and  Phoebe 
to  fidget;  and  she  said  to  Christopher,  "Oh,  dear!  I 
hope  they  are  all  alive  and  well :  once  you  leave  home, 


A  SIMPLETON.  301 

you  don't  know  wliat  may  have  happened  by  then  you 
come  back.  One  comfort,  I've  got  Soi)hy :  she  is  very 
dependable,  and  no  beauty,  thank  my  stars." 

That  night,  the  hast  they  had  to  travel,  was  cloudy,  for 
a  wonder,  and  they  groped  with  lanterns. 

Ucatella  and  her  child  brought  up  the  rear.  Presently 
there  was  a  light  pattering  behind  them.  The  swift- 
eared  Ucatella  clutched  Christopher's  arm,  and  turning 
round,  pointed  back,  with  eyeballs  white  and  rolling. 
There  were  full  a  dozen  animals  following  them,  whose 
bodies  seemed  colorless  as  shadows,  but  their  eyes  little 
balls  of  flaming  lime-light. 

"Gux!"  said  Christie,  and  gave  the  Kafir's  arm  a 
pinch.  She  flew  to  the  caravan ;  he  walked  backwards, 
facing  the  foe.  The  wagon  was  halted,  and  Dick  ran 
back  with  two  loaded  rifles.  In  his  haste  he  gave  one 
to  Christopher,  and  repented  at  leisure  ;  but  Christopher 
took  it,  and  handled  it  like  an  experienced  person,  and 
said,  with  delight,  "Volunteer."  But  with  this  the 
cautious  animals  had  vanished  like  bubbles.  But  Dick 
told  Christopher  they  would  be  sure  to  come  back ;  he 
ordered  Ucatella  into  the  wagon,  and  told  her  to  warn 
Phoebe  not  to  be  frightened  if  guns  should  be  fired. 
This  soothing  message  brought  Phoebe's  white  face  out 
between  the  curtains,  and  she  implored  them  to  get  into 
the  wagon,  and  not  tempt  Providence. 

"Not  till  I  have  got  thee  a  kaross  of  jackal's  fur." 

"  I'll  never  wear  it ! "  said  Phoebe  violently,  to  divert 
him  from  his  purpose. 

"Time  will  show,"  said  Dick  dryly.  "These  varmint 
are  on  and  off  like  shadows,  and  as  cunning  as  Old  Nick. 
We  two  will  walk  on  quite  unconcerned  like,  and  as  soon 
as  ever  the  varmint  are  at  our  heels  you  give  us  the 
ofiice  ;  and  we'll  pepper  their  fur  —  won't  we,  doctor  ?  " 

«"VVe  —  will  —  pepper  —  their  fur,"  said  Christopher; 


302  A  SIMPLETON. 

repeating  what  to  him  was  a  lesson  in  the  ancient  and 
venerable  English  tongue. 

So  they  walked  on  expectant ;  and  by  and  by  the  four- 
footed  shadows  with  large  lime-light  eyes  came  stealing 
on ;  and  Phoebe  shrieked,  and  they  vanished  before  the 
men  could  draw  a  bead  on  them. 

"Thou's  no  use  at  this  work,  Pheeb,"  said  Dick. 
"Shut  thy  eyes,  and  let  us  have  Yuke." 

"  Iss,  master  :  here  I  be." 

"  You  can  bleat  like  a  lamb ;  for  I've  heard  ye." 

"  Iss,  master.  I  bleats  beautiful ; "  and  she  showed 
snowy  teeth  from  ear  to  ear. 

"  Well,  then,  when  the  varmint  are  at  our  heels,  draw 
in  thy  woolly  head,  and  bleat  like  a  young  lamb.  They 
won't  turn  from  that,  I  know,  the  vagabonds." 

Matters  being  thus  prepared,  they  sauntered  on ;  but 
the  jackals  were  very  wary.  They  came  like  shadows, 
so  departed  —  a  great  many  times  :  but  at  last  being 
re-enforced,  they  lessened  the  distance,  and  got  so  close, 
that  Ucatella  withdrew  her  head,  and  bleated  faintly 
inside  the  wagon.  The  men  turned,  levelling  their  rifles, 
and  found  the  troop  within  twenty  yards  of  them.  They 
wheeled  directly :  but  the  four  barrels  poured  their  flame, 
four  loud  reports  startled  the  night,  and  one  jackal  lay 
dead  as  a  stone,  another  limped  behind  the  flying  crowd, 
and  one  lay  kicking.  He  was  soon  despatched,  and  both 
carcasses  flung  over  the  patient  oxen;  and  good-by 
jackals  for  the  rest  of  that  journey. 

Ucatella,  with  all  a  Kafir's  love  of  fire-arms,  clapped 
her  hands  with  delight.  "My  child  shoots  loud  and 
strong,"  said  she. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  replied  Phoebe ;  "  they  are  all  alike ; 
wherever  there's  men,  look  for  quarrelling  and  firing  oft'. 
We  had  only  to  sit  quiet  in  the  wagon." 

"Ay,"  said  Dick,   "the   cattle   especially  —  for  it  is 


A   SEVIPLETON.  303 

them  the  varmint  were  after  —  and  let  'em  eat  my 
Hottentots.'' 

At  this  picture  of  the  cattle  inside  the  wagon,  and 
the  jackals  su})ping  on  cold  Hottentot  alongside,  rhoeljt', 
who  had  no  more  humor  than  a  cat,  but  a  heart  of  gold, 
shut  up,  and  turned  red  with  confusion  at  her  false 
estimate  of  the  recent  transaction  in  fur. 

When  the  sun  rose  they  found  themselves  in  a  tract 
somewhat  less  arid  and  inhuman ;  and,  at  last,  at  the 
rise  of  a  gentle  slope,  they  saw,  half  a  mile  before  them, 
a  large  farmhouse  partly  clad  with  creepers,  and  a  little 
plot  of  turf,  the  fruit  of  eternal  watering ;  item,  a 
flower-bed ;  item,  snow-white  palings ;  item,  an  air  of 
cleanliness  and  neatness  scarcely  known  to  those  dirty 
descendants  of  clean  ancestors,  the  Boers.  At  some 
distance  a  very  large  dam  glittered  in  the  sun,  and  a 
troop  of  snow-white  sheep  were  watering  at  it. 

"  England  ! "  cried  Christopher. 

"  Ay,  sir,"  said  Phoebe  ;  "  as  nigh  as  man  can  make 
it."  But  soon  she  began  to  fret :  "  Oh,  dear !  where  are 
they  all  ?  If  it  was  me,  I'd  be  at  the  door  looking  out. 
Ah,  there  goes  Yuke  to  rouse  them  up." 

"Come,  Pheeb,  don't  you  fidget,"  said  Dick  kindly. 
"  AVliy,  the  lazy  lot  are  scarce  out  of  their  beds  by  this 
time." 

"  More  shame  for  'em.  If  they  were  away  from  me, 
and  coming  home,  I  should  be  at  the  door  day  and  night, 
I  know.     Ah  !  " 

She  uttered  a  scream  of  delight,  for  just  then,  out 
came  Ucatella,  with  little  Tommy  on  her  shoulder,  and 
danced  along  to  meet  her.  As  she  came  close,  she  raised 
the  chubby  child  high  in  the  air,  and  he  crowed ;  and 
then  she  lowered  him  to  his  mother,  who  rushed  at  him, 
seized,  and  devoured  him  with  a  hundred  inarticulate 
cries  of  joy  and  love  unspeakable. 


304  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Nature  !  "  said  Christopher  dogmatically,  recog- 
nizing an  old  acquaintance,  and  booking  it  as  one  more 
conquest  gained  over  the  past.  But  there  was  too  much 
excitement  over  the  cherub  to  attend  to  him.  So  he 
watched  the  woman  gravely,  and  began  to  moralize  with 
all  his  might.  "  This,"  said  he,  "  is  what  we  used  to 
call  maternal  love ;  and  all  animals  had  it,  and  that  is 
why  the  noble  savage  went  for  him.  It  was  very 
good  of  you.  Miss  Savage,"  said  the  poor  soul  senten- 
tiously. 

"  Good  of  her ! "  cried  Phoebe.  "  She  is  all  goodness. 
Savage,  find  me  a  Dutchwoman  like  her !  I'll  give  her  a 
good  cuddle  for  it ; "  and  she  took  the  Kafir  round  the 
neck,  and  gave  her  a  hearty  kiss,  and  made  the  little  boy 
kiss  her  too. 

At  this  moment  out  came  a  collie  dog,  hunting  Ucatella 
by  scent  alone,  which  process  landed  him  headlong  in 
the  group ;  he  gave  loud  barks  of  recognition,  fawned 
on  Phoebe  and  Dick,  smelt  poor  Christopher,  gave  a 
growl  of  suspicion,  and  lurked  about  squinting,  dissatis- 
fied, and  lowering  his  tail. 

"  Thou  art  wrong,  lad,  for  once,"  said  Dick ;  "  for  he's 
an  old  friend,  and  a  good  one." 

"  After  the  dog,  perhaps  some  Christian  will  come  to 
welcome  us,"  said  poor  Phoebe. 

Obedient  to  the  wish,  out  walked  Sophy,  the  English 
nurse,  a  scraggy  woman,  with  a  very  cocked  nose  and 
thin,  pinched  lips,  and  an  air  of  respectability  and  pert- 
ness  mingled.  She  dropped  a  short  courtes}^,  shot  the 
glance  of  a  basilisk  at  Ucatella,  and  said  stifily,  "  You 
are  welcome  home,  ma'am."  Then  she  took  the  little 
boy  as  one  having  authority.  Not  that  Phoe])e  would 
have  surrendered  him ;  but  just  then  Mr.  Falcon  strolled 
out,  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  Phoebe,  with  her 
heart  in  her  mouth,  flew  to   meet   him.     There  was  a 


A   SIMPLETON.  305 

rapturous  conjugal  embrace,  followed  by  mutual  in- 
quiries ;  and  the  wagon  drew  up  at  the  door.  Then,  for 
the  first  time,  Falcon  observed  Staines,  saw  at  once  he 
was  a  gentleman,  and  touched  his  hat  to  him,  to  which 
Christopher  responded  in  kind,  and  remembered  he  had 
done  so  in  the  locked-up  past. 

Phffibe  instantly  drew  her  husband  apart  by  the  sleeve. 
"  Who  do  you  tliink  that  is  ?  You'll  never  guess.  'Tis 
the  great  doctor  that  saved  Dick's  life  in  England  with 
cutting  of  his  throat.  But,  oh,  my  dear,  he  is  not  the 
man  he  was.  He  is  afflicted.  Out  of  his  mind  partly. 
AVell,  we  must  cure  him,  and  square  the  account  for  Dick. 
I'm  a  proud  woman  at  finding  him,  and  bringing  him 
here  to  make  him  all  right  again,  I  can  tell  you.  Oh,  I 
am  happy,  I  am  happy.  Little  did  I  think  to  be  so  happy 
as  I  am.  And,  my  dear,  I  have  brought  you  a  whole  sack- 
ful of  newspapers,  old  and  new.'' 

"  That  is  a  good  girl.  But  tell  me  a  little  more  about 
him.     What  is  his  name  ?  '^ 

"  Christie." 

''  Dr.  Christie  ?  " 

"  No  doubt.  He  wasn't  an  apothecary,  or  a  chemist, 
you  may  be  sure,  but  a  high  doctor,  and  the  cleverest 
ever  was  or  ever  will  be :  and  isn't  it  sad,  love,  to  see 
him  brought  down  so  ?  My  heart  yearns  for  the  poor 
man  :  and  then  his  wife  —  the  sweetest,  loveliest  creature 
you  ever  —  oh!"  Phoebe  stopped  very  short,  for  she 
remembered  something  all  of  a  sudden ;  nor  did  she  ever 
again  give  Falcon  a  chance  of  knowing  that  the  woman, 
whose  presence  had  so  disturbed  him,  was  this  very  Dr. 
Christie's  wife.  "  Curious  ! "  thought  she  to  herself, 
"  the  world  to  be  so  large,  and  yet  so  small :  "  then  aloud, 
"  They  are  unpacking  the  wagon ;  come,  dear.  I  don't 
think  I  have  forgotten  anything  of  yours.  Tliere's 
cigars,  and  tobacco,  and  powder,  and  shot,  and  bullets. 
20 


306  A  SIMPLETON. 

and  everything  to  make  you  comfortable,  as  my  duty 
'tis  ;  and  —  oh,  hut  I'm  a  happy  woman." 

Hottentots,  big  and  little,  clustered  about  the  wagon. 

Treasure    after   treasure    was   delivered   with    cries    of 

delight;  the  dogs  found  out  it  was  a  joyful  time,  and 

'  barked  about  the  wheeled  treasury;  and  the  place  did 

not  quiet  down  till  sunset. 

A  plain  but  tidy  little  room  was  given  to  Christopher, 
and  he  slept  there  like  a  top.  Next  morning  his  nurse 
called  him  up  to  help  her  water  the  grass.  She  led  the 
way  with  a  tub  on  her  head  and  two  buckets  in  it.  She 
took  him  to  the  dam ;  when  she  got  there  she  took  out 
the  buckets,  left  one  on  the  bank,  and  gave  the  other  to 
Christie.  She  then  went  down  the  steps  till  the  water 
was  up  to  her  neck,  and  bade  Christie  fill  the  tub.  He 
poured  eight  bucketsful  in.  Then  she  crane  slowly  out, 
straight  as  an  arrow,  balancing  this  tub  full  on  her  head. 
Then  she  held  out  her  hands  for  the  two  buckets.  Chris- 
tie filled  them,  wondering,  and  gave  them  to  her.  She 
took  them  like  toy  buckets,  and  glided  slowly  home  with 
this  enormous  weight,  and  never  spilled  a  drop.  Indeed, 
the  walk  was  more  smooth  and  noble  than  ever,  if  possible. 

When  she  reached  the  house,  she  hailed  a  Hottentot, 
and  it  cost  the  man  and  Christopher  a  great  effort  of 
strength  to  lower  her  tub  between  them. 

"  What  a  vertebral  column  you  must  have ! "  said 
Christopher. 

"  You  must  not  speak  bad  words,  my  child,"  said  she. 
"  Now,  you  water  the  grass  and  the  flowers."  She  gave 
him  a  watering-pot,  and  watched  him  maternally;  but 
did  not  j)ut  a  hand  to  it.  She  evidently  considered  this 
part  of  the  business  as  child's  play,  and  not  a  fit  exercise 
of  her  powers. 

It  was  only  by  drowning  that  little  oasis  twice  a  day 
that  the  grass  was  kept  green  and  the  flowers  alive. 


A   SIMPLETON.  307 

She  found  him  other  jobs  in  course  of  the  day,  and 
indeed  he  was  always  lielping  somebody  or  other,  and 
became  quite  ruddy,  bronzed,  and  plump  of  cheek,  and 
wore  a  strange  look  of  happiness,  except  at  times  when 
he  got  apart,  and  tried  to  recall  the  distant  past.  Then 
he  would  knit  his  brow,  and  looked  perplexed  and  sad. 

The}^  were  getting  quite  used  to  him,  and  he  to  them, 
when  one  day  he  did  not  come  in  to  dinner.  Phoebe  sent 
out  for  him;  but  they  could  not  find  him. 

The  sun  set.  Phoebe  became  greatly  alarmed,  and 
even  Dick  was  anxious. 

They  all  turned  out,  with  guns  and  dogs,  and  hunted 
for  him  beneath  the  stars. 

Just  before  daybreak  Dick  Dale  saw  a  fire  sparkle  by 
the  side  of  a  distant  thicket.  He  went  to  it,  and  there 
was  Ucatella  seated,  calm  and  grand  as  antique  statue, 
and  Christopher  lying  by  her  side,  with  a  shawl  thrown 
over  him.  As  Dale  came  hurriedly  up,  she  put  her 
finger  to  her  lips,  and  said,  "  My  child  sleeps.  Do  not 
wake  him.  When  he  sleeps,  he  hunts  the  past,  as  Collie 
liunts  the  springbok." 

"  Here's  a  go,"  said  Dick.  Then,  hearing  a  chuckle, 
he  looked  up,  and  was  aware  of  a  comical  appendage  to 
the  scene.  There  hung,  head  downwards,  from  a  branch, 
a  Kafir  boy,  who  was,  in  fact,  the  brother  of  the  stately 
Ucatella,  only  went  further  into  antiquity  for  his  models 
of  deportment ;  for,  as  she  imitated  the  antique  marbles, 
he  reproduced  the  habits  of  that  epoch  when  man  roosted, 
and  was  arboreal.  Wheel  somersaults,  and,  above  all, 
swinging  head  downwards  from  a  branch,  were  the 
sweeteners  of  his  existence. 

"  Oh !  you  are  there,  are  you  ?  "  said  Dick. 

"  Iss,"  said  Ucatella.  ^'  Tim  good  boy.  Tim  found 
my  child." 

"  W^ell,"  said  Dick,  "  he  has  chosen  a  nice  place.    This 


308  A   SIMPLETOK. 

is  the  clump  the  last  lion  came  out  of,  at  least  they  say 
so.  For  my  part,  I  never  saw  an  African  lion ;  Falcon 
says  they've  all  took  ship,  and  gone  to  England.  How- 
ever, I  shall  stay  here  with  my  rifle  till  daybreak.  'Tis 
tempting  Providence  to  lie  down  on  the  skirt  of  a  wood 
for  Lord  knows  what  to  jump  out  on  ye  unawares." 

Tim  was  sent  home  for  Hottentots,  and  Christopher 
was  carried  home,  still  sleeping,  and  laid  on  his  own 
bed. 

He  slept  twenty-four  hours  more,  and,  when  he  was 
fairly  awake,  a  sort  of  mist  seemed  to  clear  away  in 
places,  and  he  remembered  things  at  random.  He 
remembered  being  at  sea  on  the  raft  with  the  dead  body  ; 
that  picture  was  quite  vivid  to  him.  He  remembered, 
too,  being  in  the  hospital,  and  meeting  Phoebe,  and  every 
succeeding  incident ;  but  as  respected  the  more  distant 
past,  he  could  not  recall  it  by  any  effort  of  his  will.  His 
mind  could  only  go  into  that  remoter  past  by  material 
stepping-stones  ;  and  what  stepping-stones  he  had  about 
him  here  led  him  back  to  general  knowledge,  but  not  to 
his  private  history. 

In  this  condition  he  puzzled  them  all  strangely  at  the 
farm ;  his  mind  was  alternately  so  clear  and  so  obscure. 
He  would  chat  with  Phoebe,  and  sometimes  give  her  a 
good  practical  hint ;  but  the  next  moment,  helpless  for 
want  of  memory,  that  great  faculty  without  which  judg- 
ment cannot  act,  having  no  material. 

After  some  days  of  this,  he  had  another  great  sleerp. 
It  brought  him  back  the  distant  past  in  chapters.  His 
wedding-day.  His  wife's  face  and  dress  upon  that  day. 
His  parting  with  her :  his  whole  voyage  out :  but,  strange 
to  say,  it  swept  away  one-half  of  that  which  he  had 
recovered  at  his  last  sleep,  and  he  no  longer  remembered 
clearly  how  he  came  to  be  at  Dale's  Kloof. 

Thus  his  mind  might  be  compared  to  one  climbing  a 


A  SIMPLETON.  300 

slippery  place,  who  gains  a  foot  or  two,  then  slips  back  ; 
but  on  the  whole  gains  more  than  he  loses. 

He  took  a  great  liking  to  Falcon.  That  gentleman 
had  the  art  of  pleasing,  and  the  tact  never  to  offend. 

Falcon  alfected  to  treat  the  poor  soul's  want  of  memory 
as  a  common  infirmity ;  pretended  he  was  himself  very 
often  troubled  in  tlie  same  way,  and  advised  him  to  read 
the  newspapers.  ''  My  good  wife,"  said  he,  "  has  brought 
me  a  whole  file  of  the  Cajye  Gazette.  I'd  read  them  if 
I  was  you.  The  deuce  is  in  it,  if  you  don't  rake  up 
something  or  other." 

Christopher  thanked  him  warmly  for  this  :  he  got  the 
papers  to  his  own  little  room,  and  had  always  one  or  two 
in  his  i)ocket  for  reading.  At  first  he  found  a  good  many 
hard  words  that  puzzled  him ;  and  he  borrowed  a  pencil 
of  Phoebe,  and  noted  them  down.  Strange  to  say,  the 
words  that  puzzled  him  were  always  common  words, 
that  his  unaccountable  memory  had  forgotten:  a  hard 
word,  he  was  sure  to  remember  that. 

One  day  he  had  to  ask  Falcon  the  meaning  of  "  spend- 
thrift." Falcon  told  him  briefly.  He  could  have  illus- 
trated the  word  by  a  striking  example ;  but  he  did  not. 
He  added,  in  his  polite  way,  "  No  fellow  can  understand 
all  the  words  in  a  newspaper.  Now,  here's  a  word  in 
mine  —  'Anemometer;'  who  the  deuce  can  understand 
such  a  word  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  common  word  enough,"  said  poor 
Christopher.  "It  means  a  machine  for  measuring  the 
force  of  the  Avind." 

"  Oh,  indeed,"  said  Falcon ;  but  did  not  believe  a  word 
of  it. 

One  sultry  day  Christopher  had  a  violent  headache, 
and  complained  to  Ucatella.  She  told  Phoebe,  and  they 
bound  his  brows  with  a  wet  handkerchief,  and  advised 
him  to  keep  in-doors.     He  sat  down  in  the  coolest  part 


310  A   SENITLETON". 

of  the  house,  and  held  his  head  with  his  hands,  for  it 
seemed  as  if  it  Avould  explode  into  two  great  fragments. 

All  in  a  moment  the  sky  was  overcast  with  angry 
clouds,  whirling  this  way  and  that.  Huge  drops  of  hail 
pattered  down,  and  the  next  minute  came  a  tremendous 
flash  of  lightning,  accompanied,  rather  than  followed, 
by  a  crash  of  thunder  close  over  their  heads. 

This  was  the  opening.  Down  came  a  deluge  out  of 
clouds  that  looked  mountains  of  pitch,  and  made  the 
day  night  but  for  the  fast  and  furious  strokes  of  light- 
nins:  that  fired  the  air.  The  scream  of  wind  and  awful 
peals  of  thunder  completed  the  horrors  of  the  scene. 

In  the  midst  of  this,  by  what  agency  I  know  no  more 
than  science  or  a  sheex3  does,  something  went  off  inside 
Christopher's  head,  like  a  pistol-shot.  He  gave  a  sort  of 
scream,  and  dashed  out  into  the  weather. 

Phoebe  heard  his  scream  and  his  flying  footstep,  and 
uttered  an  ejaculation  of  fear.  The  whole  household 
was  alarmed,  and,  under  other  circumstances,  would  have 
followed  him ;  but  you  could  not  see  ten  yards. 

A  chill  sense  of  impending  misfortune  settled  on  the 
house.  Phoebe  threw  her  apron  over  her  head,  and 
rocked  in  her  chair. 

Dick  himself  looked  very  grave, 

Ucatella  would  have  tried  to  follow  him ;  but  Dick 
forbade  her.  "  'Tis  no  use,"  said  he.  '^  When  it  clears, 
we  that  be  men  will  go  for  him." 

"Pray  Heaven  you  may  find  him  alive  !'' 

"  I  don't  think  but  what  we  shall.  There's  nowhere 
he  can  fall  down  to  hurt  himself,  nor  yet  drown  himself, 
but  our  dam  ;  and  he  has  not  gone  that  way.     But "  — 

« But  what?" 

"  If  we  do  find  him,  we  must  take  him  back  to  Cape 
Town,  before  he  does  himself,  or  some  one,  a  mischief. 
Why,  Phoebe,  don't  you  see  the  man  has  gone  raving 
mad?" 


A   SIMPLETON.  311 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  electrified  man  rushed  out  into  the  storm,  but  he 
scarcely  felt  it  in  his  body  ;  the  effect  on  his  mind  over- 
powered hail-stones.  The  lightning  seemed  to  light  up 
the  past;  the  mighty  explosions  of  thunder  seemed 
cannon  strokes  knocking  down  a  wall,  and  letting  in  his 
whole  life. 

Six  hours  the  storm  raged,  and,  before  it  ended,  he 
had  recovered  nearly  his  whole  past,  excei)t  his  voyage 
with  Captain  Dodd  —  that,  indeed,  he  never  recovered  — 
and  the  things  that  happened  to  him  in  the  hospital 
before  he  met  Phoebe  Falcon  and  her  brother:  and  as 
soon  as  he  had  recovered  his  lost  memory,  his  body  began 
to  shiver  at  the  hail  and  rain.  He  tried  to  find  his  way 
home,  but  missed  it ;  not  so  much,  however,  but  that  he 
recovered  it  as  soon  as  it  began  to  clear,  and  just  as  they 
were  coming  out  to  look  for  him,  he  appeared  before 
them,  dripping,  shivering,  very  pale  and  worn,  with  the 
handkerchief  still  about  his  head.  ^ 

At  sight  of  him,  Dick  slipped  back  to  his  sister,  and 
said,  rather  roughly,  "  There  now,  you  may  leave  off  cry- 
ing :  he  is  come  home ;  and  to-morrow  I  take  him  to 
Cape  Town." 

Christopher  crept  in,  a  dismal,  sinister  figure. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Phoebe,  "  was  this  a  day  for  a  Christian 
to  be  out  in  ?     How  could  you  go  and  frighten  us  so  ?  " 

"  Forgive  me,  madam,"  said  Christopher  humbly  ;  "  I 
was  not  myself." 

"  The  best  thing  yon  can  do  now  is  to  go  to  bed,  and 
let  us  send  you  up  something  warm." 


312  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  Cliristox^lier,  and  retired 
with  the  air  of  one  too  full  of  great  amazing  thoughts 
to  gossip. 

He  slept  thirty  hours  at  a  stretch,  and  then,  awaking 
in  the  dead  of  night,  he  saw  the  past  even  more  clear  and 
vivid ;  he  lighted  his  candle  and  began  to  grope  in  the 
Caj^e  Gazette.  As  to  dates,  he  now  remembered  when 
he  had  sailed  from  England,  and  also  from  Madeira. 
Following  up  this  clew,  he  found  in  the  Gazette  a  notice 
that  H.  M.  ship  Amphitrite  had  been  spoken  off  the 
Cape,  and  had  reported  the  melancholy  loss  of  a  prom- 
ising physician  and  man  of  science.  Dr.  Staines. 

The  account  said  every  exertion  had  been  made  to 
save  him,  but  in  vain. 

Staines  ground  his  teeth  with  rage  at  this.  "  Every 
exertion  !  the  false-hearted  curs.  They  left  me  to  drown, 
without  one  manly  effort  to  save  me.  Curse  them,  and 
curse  all  the  world." 

Pursuing  his  researches  rapidly,  he  found  a  much 
longer  account  of  a  raft  picked  up  by  Captain  Dodd, 
with  a  white  man  on  it  and  a  dead  body,  the  white  man 
having  on  him  a  considerable  sum  in  money  and  jewels. 

Then  a  new  anxiety  chilled  him.  There  was  not  a 
word  to  identify  him  with  Dr.  Staines.  The  idea  had 
never  occurred  to  the  editor  of  the  Cai^e  Gazette.  Still 
less  would  it  occur  to  any  one  in  England.  At  this 
moment  his  wife  must  be  mourning  for  him.  "  Poor  — 
poor  Rosa !  " 

But  perhaps  the  fatal  news  might  not  have  reached 
her. 

That  hope  was  dashed  away  as  soon  as  found.  Wliy, 
these  were  all  old  neicspa2')ers.  That  gentlemanly  man 
who  had  lent  them  to  him  had  said  so. 

Old  !  yet  they  completed  the  year  1867. 

He  now  tore  throui^rh  them   for  the  dates   alone,  and 


A  SIMPLETON. 


soon  found  they  went  to  1868.     Yet  they  were  ohl  papers. 
He  had  sailed  in  May,  1867. 

"My  God!"   he   cried,  in   agony,   "I   have   lost   a 


YEAR  " 


This  thought  crushed  him.  By  and  by  he  began  to 
carry  this  awful  idea  into  details.  "  Uy  Rosa  has  worn 
mourning  for  me,  and  put  it  off  again.  I  am  dead  to 
her,  and  to  all  the  world." 

He  wept  long  and  bitterly. 

Those  tears  cleared  his  brain  still  more.  For  all  that, 
he  was  not  yet  himself ;  at  least,  I  doubt  it ;  his  insanity, 
driven  from  the  intellect,  fastened  one  lingering  claw 
into  his  moral  nature,  and  hung  on  by  it.  His  soul  filled 
with  bitterness  and  a  desire  to  be  revenged  on  mankind 
for  their  injustice,  and  this  thought  possessed  him  more 
than  reason. 

He  joined  the  family  at  breakfast ;  and  never  a  word 
all  the  time.  But  when  he  got  up  to  go,  he  said,  in  a 
strange,  dogged  way,  as  if  it  went  against  the  grain, 
"  God  bless  the  house  that  succors  the  afflicted."  Then 
he  went  out  to  brood  alone. 

"Dick,"  said  Phoebe,  "there's  a  change.  I'll  never 
part  with  him  :  and  look,  there's  Collie  following  him, 
that  never  could  abide  him." 

"Part  with  him?"  said  Reginald.  "Of  course  not. 
He   is   a   gentleman,   and  they  are  not   so  common  in 

Africa." 

Dick,  who  hated  Palcon,  ignored  this  speech  entirely, 
and  said,  "Well,  Pheeb,  you  and  Collie  are  wiser  than  I 
am.  Take  your  own  way,  and  don't  blame  me  if  any- 
thing liappens." 

Soon  Christopher  paid  the  penalty  of  returning  reason. 
He  suffered  all  the  poignant  agony  a  great  heart  can 
endure. 

So  this  was  liis  reward  for  his  great  act  of  self-denial 


314  A  SI]\rPLETON. 

in  leaving  his  beloved  wife.  He  had  lost  his  patient ; 
he  had  lost  the  income  from  that  patient ;  his  wife  was 
worse  off  than  before,  and  had  doubtless  suffered  the 
anguish  of  a  loving  heart  bereaved.  His  mind,  which 
now  seemed  more  vigorous  than  ever,  after  its  long  rest, 
placed  her  before  his  very  eyes,  pale,  and  worn  with 
grief,  in  her  widow's  cap. 

At  the  picture,  he  cried  like  the  rain.  He  could  give 
her  joy,  by  writing ;  but  he  could  not  prevent  her  from 
suffering  a  whole  year  of  misery. 

Turning  this  over  in  connection  with  their  poverty, 
his  evil  genius  whispered,  "•'  By  this  time  she  has  re- 
ceived the  six  thousand  pounds  for  your  death.  She 
would  never  think  of  that ;  but  her  father  has  :  and 
there  is  her  comfort  assured,  in  spite  of  the  caitiffs  who 
left  her  husband  to  drown  like  a  dog." 

"  I  know  my  Rosa,"  he  thought.  "  She  has  swooned 
—  ah,  my  poor  darling  —  she  has  raved  —  she  has  wept," 
he  wept  himself  at  the  thought  — "  she  has  mourned 
every  indiscreet  act,  as  if  it  was  a  crime.  But  she  has 
done  all  this.  Her  good  and  loving  but  shallow  nature 
is  now  at  rest  from  the  agonies  of  bereavement,  and 
nought  remains  but  sad  and  tender  regrets.  She  can 
better  endure  that  than  poverty :  cursed  poverty,  which 
has  brought  her  and  me  to  this,  and  is  the  only  real  evil 
in  the  world,  but  bodily  pain." 

Then  came  a  struggle,  that  lasted  a  whole  week,  and 
knitted  his  brows,  and  took  the  color  from  his  cheek ; 
but  it  ended  in  the  triumph  of  love  and  liate,  over  con- 
science and  common  sense.  His  Rosa  should  not  be 
poor ;  and  he  would  cheat  some  of  tliose  contemptible 
creatures  called  men,  Avho  had  done  liim  nothing  but  in- 
justice, and  at  last  had  sacrificed  his  life  like  a  rat's. 

AVhen  the  struggle  was  over,  and  the  fatal  resolution 
taken,  then  he  became  calmer,  less  solitary,  and  more 
sociable. 


A   SIMPLETON.  315 

Phoebe,  who  was  secretly  watching  him  with  a  woman's 
eye,  observed  this  change  in  liim,  and,  with  benevolent 
intentions,  invited  him  one  day  to  ride  round  the  farm 
with  her.  He  consented  readily.  She  showed  him  the 
fields  devoted  to  maize  and  wheat,  and  then  the  sheep- 
folds.  Tim's  sheep  were  apparently  deserted;  but  he 
was  discovered  swinging  head  downwards  from  the  branch 
of  a  camel-thorn,  and  seeing  him,  it  did  strike  one  that 
if  he  had  had  a  tail  he  would  have  been  swinging  by 
that.  Phoebe  called  to  him  :  he  never  answered,  but  set 
off  running  to  her,  and  landed  himself  under  her  nose 
in  a  wheel  somersault. 

"  I  hope  you  are  watching  them,  Tim,"  said  his  mis- 
tress. 

"  Iss,  missy,  always  washing  'em." 

"  Why,  there's  one  straying  towards  the  wood  now." 

"  He  not  go  far,"  said  Tim  coolly.  The  young  monkey 
stole  off  a  little  way,  then  fell  flat,  and  uttered  the  cry 
of  a  jackal,  with  startling  precision.  Back  w^ent  the 
sheep  to  his  comrades  post  haste,  and  Tim  effected  a 
somersault  and  a  chuckle. 

"  You  are  a  clever  boy,"  said  Phoebe.  "  So  that  is  how 
you  manage  them." 

"  Dat  one  way,  missy,"  said  Tim,  not  caring  to  reveal 
all  his  resources  at  once. 

Then  Phoebe  rode  on,  and  showed  Christopher  the 
ostrich  pan.  It  was  a  large  basin,  a  form  the  soil  often 
takes  in  these  parts;  and  in  it  strutted  several  full- 
grown  ostriches  and  their  young,  bred  on  the  premises. 
There  was  a  little  dam  of  water,  and  plenty  of  food 
about.  They  were  herded  by  a  Kafir  infant  of  about 
six,  black,  glossy,  fat,  and  clean,  being  in  the  water  six 
times  a  day. 

Sometimes  one  of  the  older  birds  would  show  an  incli- 
nation to  stray  out  of  the  pan.     Then  the  infant  rolled 


316  A  SIMPLETON. 

after  her,  and  tapped  her  ankles  with  a  wand.  She  in- 
stantly  came  back,  but  without  any  loss  of  dignity,  for 
she  strutted  with  her  nose  in  the  air,  affecting  com- 
pletely to  ignore  the  inferior  little  animal,  that  Avas 
nevertheless  controlling  her  movements.  "There's  a 
farce,"  said  Phoebe.  "But  you  would  not  believe  the 
money  they  cost  me,  nor  the  money  they  bring  me  in. 
Grain  will  not  sell  here  for  a  quarter  its  value :  and  we 
can't  afford  to  send  it  to  Cape  Town,  twenty  days  and 
back ;  but  finery,  that  sells  everywhere.  I  gather  sixty 
pounds  the  year  off  those  poor  fowls'  backs — clear 
profit." 

She  showed  him  the  granary,  and  told  him  there  wasn't 
such  another  in  Africa.  This  farm  had  belonged  to  one 
of  the  old  Dutch  settlers,  and  that  breed  had  been  going 
down  this  many  a  year.  "You  see,  sir,  Dick  and  I 
being  English,  and  not  downright  in  want  of  money,  we 
can't  bring  ourselves  to  sell  grain  to  the  middlemen  for 
nothing,  so  we  store  it,  hoping  for  better  times,  that 
maybe  will  never  come.  Now  I'll  show  you  how  the 
dam  is  made." 

They  inspected  the  dam  all  round.  "  This  is  our  best 
friend  of  all,"  said  she.  "  Without  this  the  sun  would 
turn  us  all  to  tinder, — crops,  flowers,  beasts,  and  folk." 

"Oh,  indeed,"  said  Staines.  "Then  it  is  a  pity  you 
have  not  built  it  more  scientifically.  I  must  have  a  look 
at  this." 

"  Ay  do,  sir,  and  advise  us  if  you  see  anything  wrong. 
But  hark  !  it  is  milking  time.  Come  and  see  that."  So 
she  led  the  way  to  some  sheds,  and  there  they  found  sev- 
eral cows  being  milked,  each  by  a  little  calf  and  a  little 
Hottentot  at  the  same  time,  and  both  fighting  and  jos- 
tling each  other  for  the  udder.  Now  and  then  a  young 
cow,  unused  to  incongruous  twins,  would  kick  impatiently 
at  both  animals  and  scatter  them. 


A  SIMPLETON.  317 

«  That  is  their  way,"  said  Phoebe  :  "  they  have  got  it 
into  their  silly  Hottentot  heads  as  kye  won't  yield  their 
milk  if  the  calf  is  taken  away  ;  and  it  is  no  use  arguing 
with  'em  ;  they  will  have  their  own  way ;  but  they  are 
very  trusty  and  honest,  poor  things.  We  soon  found 
that  out.  When  we  came  here  first  it  was  in  a  hired 
wagon,  and  Hottentot  drivers:  so  when  we  came  to 
settle  I  made  ready  for  a  bit  of  a  wrangle.  But  my  maid 
Sophy,  that  is  nurse  now,  and  a  great  despiser  of  heath- 
ens, she  says,  'Don't  you  trouble;  them  nasty  ignorant 
blacks  never  charges  more  than  their  due.'  'I  for- 
give 'em,'  says  I;  'I  wish  all  white  folk  was  as  nice.' 
However,  I  did  give  them  a  trifle  over,  for  luck:  and 
then  they  got  together  and  chattered  something  near  the 
door,  hand  in  hand.  '  La,  Sophy,'  says  I,  '  what  is  up 
now  ?  '  Says  she,  '  They  are  blessing  of  us.  Things  is 
come  to  a  pretty  pass,  iot  ignorant  Muslinmen  heathen 
to  be  blessing  Christian  folk.'  '  Well,'  says  I,  '  it  won't 
hurt  us  any.'  '  I  don't  know,'  says  she.  '  I  don't  want 
the  devil  prayed  over  me.'  So  she  cocked  that  long  nose 
of  hers  and  followed  it  in  a  doors." 

By  this  time  they  were  near  the  house,  and  Phoebe 
was  obliged  to  come  to  her  postscript,  for  the  sake  of 
which,  believe  me,  she  had  uttered  every  syllable  of  this 
varied  chat.  "Well,  sir,"  said  she,  affecting  to  proceed 
without  any  considerable  change  of  topic,  "and  how  do 
you  find  yourself  ?     Have  you  discovered  the  past  ?  " 

"'  I  have,  madam.  I  remember  every  leading  incident 
of  my  life." 

"  And  has  it  made  you  happier  ?  "  said  Phoebe  softly. 

"Ko,"  said  Christopher  gravely.  "  Memory  has  brought 
me  misery." 

"  I  feared  as  much ;  for  you  have  lost  your  fine  color, 
and  your  eyes  are  hollow,  and  lines  on  your  poor  brow 
that  were  not  there  before.  Are  you  not  sorry  you  ha\  e 
discovered  the  past  ?  " 


318  A   SIMPLETON. 

"No,  Mrs.  Falcon.  Give  me  the  sovereign  gift  of 
reason,  with  all  the  torture  it  can  inflict.  I  thank  God 
for  returning  memory,  even  with  the  misery  it  brings." 

Phoebe  was  silent  a  long  time :  then  she  said  in  a  low, 
gentle  voice,  and  with  the  indirectness  of  a  truly  femi- 
nine nature,  "I  have  plenty  of  writing-paper  in  the 
house ;  and  the  post  goes  south  to-morrow,  such  as  'tis." 

Christopher  struggled  with  his  misery,  and  trembled. 

He  was  silent  a  long  time.  Then  he  said,  "  No.  It 
is  her  interest  that  I  should  be  dead." 

"  Well,  but,  sir  —  take  a  thought." 

"Not  a  word  more,  I  implore  you.  I  am  the  most 
miserable  man  that  ever  breathed."  As  he  spoke,  two 
bitter  tears  forced  their  way. 

Phoebe  cast  a  look  of  pity  on  him,  and  said  no  more  ; 
but  she  shook  her  head.  Her  plain  common  sense 
revolted. 

However,  it  did  not  follow  he  would  be  in  the  same 
mind  next  week  :  so  she  was  in  excellent  spirits  at  her 
protege's  recovery,  and  very  proud  of  her  cure,  and  cele- 
brated the  event  with  a  roaring  supper,  including  an 
English  ham,  and  a  bottle  of  port  wine ;  and,  ten  to  one, 
that  was  English  too. 

Dick  Dale  looked  a  little  incredulous,  but  he  did  not 
spare  the  ham  any  the  more  for  that. 

After  supper,  in  a  pause  of  conversation,  Staines 
turned  to  Dick,  and  said,  rather  abruptly,  "  Suppose  that 
dam  of  yours  were  to  burst  and  empty  its  contents, 
would  it  not  be  a  great  misfortune  to  you  ?  " 

"Misfortune,  sir!  Don't  talk  of  it.  Why,  it  would 
ruin  us,  beast  and  body." 

"Well,  it  will  burst,  if  it  is  not  looked  to." 

"  Dale's  Kloof  dam  burst !  tlie  biggest  and  strongest 
for  a  hundred  miles  round." 

"You  deceive  yourself.     It  is  not  scientifically  built, 


A  SIMPLETON.  319 

to  begin,  and  there  is  a  cause  at  work  that  will  infallibly 
burst  it,  if  not  looked  to  in  time." 

"And  what  is  that,  sir?" 

"  The  dam  is  full  of  crabs." 

"  So  'tis  ;  but  what  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  detected  two  of  them  that  had  perforated  the  dyke 
from  the  wet  side  to  the  dry,  and  water  was  trickling 
through  the  channel  they  had  made.  Now,  for  me  to 
catch  two  that  had  come  right  through,  there  must  be  a 
great  many  at  work  honeycombing  your  dyke ;  those 
channels,  once  made,  will  be  enlarged  by  the  permeating 
water,  and  a  mere  cupful  of  water  forced  into  a  dyke  by 
the  great  pressure  of  a  heavy  column  has  an  expansive 
power  quite  out  of  proportion  to  the  quantity  forced  in. 
Colossal  dykes  have  been  burst  in  this  way  with  dis- 
astrous effects.  Indeed,  it  is  only  a  question  of  time, 
and  I  would  not  guarantee  your  dyke  twelve  hours.  It 
is  full,  too,  with  the  heavy  rains." 

"  Here's  a  go  ! "  said  Dick,  turning  pale.  "  Well,  if  it 
is  to  burst,  it  must." 

"  Why  so  ?  You  can  make  it  safe  in  a  few  hours. 
You  have  got  a  clumsy  contrivance  for  letting  off  the 
excess  of  water :  let  us  go  and  relieve  the  dam  at  once 
of  two  feet  of  water.  That  will  make  it  safe  for  a  day 
or  two,  and  to-morrow  we  will  puddle  it  afresh,  and 
demolish  those  busy  excavators." 

He  spoke  with  such  authority  and  earnestness,  that 
they  all  got  up  from  table  ;  a  horn  was  blown  that  soon 
brought  the  Hottentots,  and  they  all  proceeded  to  the 
dam.  With  infinite  difficulty  they  opened  the  waste 
sluice,  lowered  the  water  two  feet,  and  so  drenched  the 
arid  soil  that  in  forty-eight  hours  flowers  unknown 
sprang  up. 

Next  morning,  under  the  doctor's  orders,  all  the  black 
men  and  boys  were  diving  with  lumps  of  stiff  clay  and 


320  A  SIMPLETON. 

puddling  the  endangered  wall  with  a  thick  wall  of  it. 
This  took  all  the  people  the  whole  day. 

Next  day  the  clay  wall  was  carried  two  feet  higher, 
and  then  the  doctor  made  them  work  on  the  other  side 
and  buttress  the  dyke  with  supports  so  enormous  as 
seemed  extravagant  to  Dick  and  Phoebe ;  but,  after  all, 
it  was  as  well  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  they  thought :  and 
soon  they  were  sure  of  it,  for  the  whole  work  was  hardly 
finished  when  the  news  came  in  that  the  dyke  of  a 
neighboring  Boer,  ten  miles  off,  had  exploded  like  a 
cannon,  and  emptied  itself  in  five  minutes,  drowning 
the  farm-yard  and  floating  the  furniture,  but  leaving 
them  all  to  perish  of  drought;  and  indeed  the  Boer's 
cart  came  every  day,  with  empty  barrels,  for  some  time, 
to  beg  water  of  the  Dales.  Ucatella  pondered  all  this, 
and  said  her  doctor  child  was  wise. 

This  brief  excitement  over,  Staines  went  back  to  his 
own  gloomy  thoughts,  and  they  scarcely  saw  him,  except 
at  supper-time. 

One  evening  he  surprised  them  all  by  asking  if  they 
would  add  to  all  their  kindness  by  lending  him  a  horse, 
and  a  spade,  and  a  few  pounds  to  go  to  the  diamond 
fields. 

Dick  Dale  looked  at  his  sister.  She  said,  "We  had 
rather  lend  them  you  to  go  home  with,  sir,  if  you  must 
leave  us ;  but,  dear  heart,  I  was  half  in  hopes  —  Dick 
and  I  were  talking  it  over  only  yesterday  —  that  jou 
would  go  partners  like  with  us ;  ever  since  you  saved  the 
dam." 

"  I  have  too  little  to  offer  for  that,  Mrs.  Falcon ;  and, 
besides,  I  am  driven  into  a  corner.  I  must  make  money 
quickly,  or  not  at  all:  the  diamonds  are  only  three  hun- 
dred miles  off :  for  heaven's  sake,  let  me  try  iny  luck." 

They  tried  to  dissuade  him,  and  told  him  not  one  in 
fifty  did  any  good  at  it. 


A  SIMPLETON. 


321 


"Ay,  but  /  shall,"  said  he.  "Great  bad  luck  is  fol- 
lowed by  great  good  luck,  and  I  feel  my  turn  is  come. 
Not  tluit  I  rely  on  luck.  An  accident  directed  my  at- 
tention to  tlie  diamond  a  few  years  ago,  and  I  read  a 
number  of  prime  works  upon  the  subject  that  told  me  of 
things  not  known  to  the  miners.  It  is  clear,  from  the 
Gape  journals,  that  they  are  looking  for  diamonds  in  the 
river  only.  Now,  I  am  sure  that  is  a  mistake.  Dia- 
monds, like  gold,  have  their  matrix,  and  it  is  compara- 
tively few  gems  that  get  washed  into  the  river.  I  am 
confident  that  I  shall  ti.nd  the  volcanic  matrix,  and  per- 
haps make  my  fortune  in  a  Aveek  or  two." 

When  the  dialogue  took  this  turn,  Keginald  Falcon's 
cheek  began  to  flush,  and  his  eyes  to  glitter. 

Christopher  continued :  "  You  who  have  befriended  me 
so  will  not  turn  back,  I  am  sure,  when  I  have  such  a 
chance  before  me ;  and  as  for  the  small  sum  of  money  I 
shall  require,  I  will  repay  you  some  day,  even  if  "  — 

"  La,  sir,  don't  talk  so.  If  you  put  it  that  way,  why, 
the  best  horse  ^ve  have,  and  fifty  pounds  in  good  English 
gold,  they  are  at  your  service  to-morrow." 

"  And  pick  and  spade  to  boot,"  said  Dick,  "  and  a 
double  rifle,  for  there  are  lions,  and  Lord  knows  what, 
between  this  and  the  Vaal  river." 

"  God  bless  you  both ! "  said  Christopher.  "  I  will 
start  to-morrow." 

"  And  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Eeginald  Falcon. 

21 


322  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

"  Heaven  forbid !  "  said  Phoebe.  "  No,  my  dear,  no 
more  diamonds  for  us.  We  never  had  but  one,  and  it 
brought  us  trouble." 

"  Nonsense,  Phoebe,"  replied  Falcon  ;  "  it  was  not  the 
diamond's  fault.  You  know  I  have  often  wanted  to  go 
there,  but  you  objected.  You  said  you  were  afraid  some 
evil  would  befall  me.  But  now  Solomon  himself  is  going 
to  the  mines,  let  us  have  no  more  of  that  nonsense.  We 
will  take  our  rifles  and  our  pistols." 

"  There  —  there  —  rifles  and  pistols,"  cried  Phoebe ; 
"that  shows." 

"  And  we  will  be  there  in  a  week  ;  stay  a  month,  and 
home  with  our  pockets  full  of  diamonds." 

"  And  find  me  dead  of  a  broken  heart." 

"  Broken  fiddlestick !  We  have  been  parted  longei 
than  that,  and  yet  here  we  are  all  right." 

"  Ay,  but  the  pitcher  that  goes  too  often  to  the  well 
gets  broke  at  last.  No,  Eeginald,  now  I  have  tasted 
three  years'  happiness  and  peace  of  mind,  I  cannot  go 
through  Avhat  I  used  in  England.  Oh,  doctor !  have  you 
the  heart  to  part  man  and  wife,  that  have  never  been  a 
day  from  each  other  all  these  years  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Falcon,  I  would  not  do  it  for  all  the  diamonds 
in  Brazil.  No,  Mr.  Falcon,  I  need  hardly  say  how 
charmed  I  should  be  to  have  your  company :  but  that 
is  a  pleasure  I  shall  certainly  deny  myself,  after  what 
your  good  wife  has  said.  I  owe  her  too  much  to  cause 
her  a  single  pang." 

"Doctor,"  said  the  charming  Eeginald,  "you  are  a 


A   SIMPLETON.  323 

gentleman  and  side  with  the  lady.  Quite  riglit.  It  adds 
to  my  esteem,  if  possible.  Make  your  mind  easy  ;  I  will 
'-•o  alone.  I  am  not  a  farmer.  I  am  dead  sick  of  this 
monotonous  life ;  and,  since  I  am  compelled  to  speak  my 
mind,  a  little  ashamed,  as  a  gentleman,  of  living  on  my 
wife  and  her  brother,  and  doing  nothing  for  myself.  So 
I  shall  go  to  the  Vaal  river,  and  see  a  little  life  ;  here 
there's  nothing  but  vegetation  —  and  not  much  of  that. 
Not  a  word  more,  Phoebe,  if  you  x^lease.  I  am  a  good, 
easy,  aifectionate  husband,  but  I  am  a  man,  and  not  a 
child  to  be  tied  to  a  woman's  apron-strings,  however 
much  I  may  love  and  respect  her." 

Dick  put  in  his  word :  "  Since  you  are  so  independent, 
you  can  loalk  to  the  Vaal  river.  I  can't  spare  a  couple 
of  horses." 

This  hit  the  sybarite  hard,  and  he  cast  a  bitter  glance 
of  hatred  at  his  brother-in-law,  and  fell  into  a  moody 
silence. 

But  when  he  got  Phoebe  to  himself,  he  descanted  on 
her  selfishness,  Dick's  rudeness,  and  his  own  wounded 
dignity,  till  he  made  her  quite  anxious  he  should  have 
his  own  w^ay.  She  came  to  Staines,  with  red  eyes,  and 
said,  "  Tell  me,  doctor,  will  there  be  any  w^omen  up  there 

—  to  take  care  of  you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  petticoat  in  the  place,  I  believe.  It  is  a  very 
rough  life ;  and  how  Falcon  could  think  of  leaving  you 
and  sweet  little  Tommy,  and  this  life  of  health,  and 
peace,  and  comfort  —  " 

"  Yet  you  do  leave  us,  sir." 

"I  am  the  most  unfortunate  man  upon  the  earth; 
Falcon  is  one  of  the  happiest.  Would  I  leave  wife  and 
child  to  go  there  ?  Ah  me  !  I  am  dead  to  those  I  love. 
This  is  my  one  chance  of  seeing  my  darling  again  for 
many  a  long  year  perhaps.     Oh,  I  must  not  speak  of  her 

—  it  unmans  me.     My  good,  kind  friend,  I'll  tell  you 


824  A   SIMPLETON. 

what  to  do.  When  we  are  all  at  supper,  let  a  horse  be 
saddled  and  left  in  the  yard  for  me.  I'll  bid  you  all 
good-night,  and  I'll  put  fifty  miles  between  us  before 
morning.  Even  then  he  need  not  be  told  I  am  gone ;  he 
will  not  follow  me." 

'^  You  are  very  good,  sir,"  said  Phoebe  ;  "  but  no.  Too 
much  has  been  said.  I  can't  have  him  humbled  by  my 
brother,  nor  any  one.  He  says  I  am  selfish.  Perhaps  I 
am ;  though  I  never  was  called  so.  I  can't  bear  he  should 
think  me  selfish.  He  ivill  go,  and  so  let  us  have  no  ill 
blood  about  it.  Since  he  is  to  go,  of  course  I'd  much 
liever  he  should  go  with  you  than  by  himself.  You  are 
sure  there  are  no  women  up  there  —  to  take  care  of  — 
you  —  both  ?  You  must  be  purse-bearer,  sir,  and  look 
to  every  penny.  Pie  is  too  generous  when  he  has  got 
money  to  spend." 

In  short,  Keginald  had  played  so  upon  her  heart,  that 
she  now  urged  the  joint  expedition,  only  she  asked  a 
delay  of  a  day  or  two  to  equip  them,  and  steel  herself  to 
the  separation. 

Staines  did  not  share  those  vague  fears  that  overpow- 
ered the  wife,  whose  bitter  experiences  were  unknown  to 
him ;  but  he  felt  uncomfortable  at  her  condition  —  for 
now  she  was  often  in  tears  —  and  he  said  all  he  could  to 
comfort  her ;  and  he  also  advised  her  how  to  profit  by 
these  terrible  diamonds,  in  her  way.  He  pointed  out  to 
her  that  her  farm  lay  right  in  the  road  to  the  diamonds, 
yet  the  traffic  all  shunned  her,  passing  twenty  miles  to 
the  westward.  Said  he,  "  You  should  profit  by  all  your 
resources.  You  have  wood,  a  great  rarity  in  Africa; 
order  a  portable  forge ;  run  up  a  building  where  miners 
can  sleep,  another  where  they  can  feed;  the  grain  you 
have  so  wisely  refused  to  sell,  grind  it  into  flour." 

"  Dear  heart !  why,  there's  neither  wind  nor  water  to 
turn  a  mill." 


A   SI^IPLETON.  325 

"But  there  are  oxen.  I'll  show  you  how  to  make  an 
ox-mill.  Send  your  Cape  cart  into  Cape  Town  for  iron 
lathes,  for  coffee  and  tea,  and  groceries  by  the  hundred- 
weight. The  moment  you  are  ready  —  for  success  depends 
on  the  order  in  which  we  act — then  prepare  great  boards, 
and  plant  them  twenty  miles  south.  Write  or  paint  on 
them,  very  large, '  The  nearest  way  to  the  Diamond  jMines, 
through  Dale's  Kloof,  where  is  excellent  accommodation 
for  man  and  beast.  Tea,  coffee,  home-made  bread,  fresh 
butter,  etc.,  etc'  Do  this,  and  you  will  soon  leave  off 
decrying  diamonds.  This  is  the  sure  way  to  coin  them. 
I  myself  take  the  doubtful  way ;  but  I  can't  help  it.  I 
am  a  dead  man,  atid  swift  good  fortune  will  give  me  life. 
You  can  afford  to  go  the  slower  road  and  the  surer." 

Then  he  drew  her  a  model  of  an  ox-mill,  and  of  a 
miner's  dormitory,  the  partitions  six  feet  six  apart,  so 
that  these  very  partitions  formed  the  bedstead,  the  bed- 
sacking  being  hooked  to  the  uprights.  He  drew  his 
model  for  twenty  bedrooms. 

The  portable  forge  and  the  ox-mill  pleased  Dick  Dale 
most,  but  the  partitioned  bedsteads  charmed  Phoebe. 
She  said,  "  Oh,  doctor,  how  can  one  man's  head  hold  so 
many  things  ?  If  there's  a  man  on  earth  I  can  trust  my 
husband  with,  'tis  you.  But  if  things  go  cross  up  there, 
promise  me  you  will  come  back  at  once  and  cast  in  your 
lot  with  us.  We  have  got  money  and  stock,  and  you 
have  got  headpiece;  we  might  do  very  well  together. 
Indeed,  indeed  we  might.  Promise  me.  Oh,  do,  please, 
promise  me  ! " 

"I  promise  you." 

And  on  this  understanding,  Staines  and  Falcon  were 
equipped  with  rifles,  pickaxe,  shovels,  waterproofs,  and 
full  saddle-bags,  and  started,  with  many  shakings  of  tlie 
hand,  and  many  teaj.'S  from.  Phoebe,  for  the  diamond 
washings. 


326  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Phcebe's  tears  at  parting  made  Staines  feel  uncomfort- 
able, and  lie  said  so. 

"  Pooh,  pooh  ! "  said  Falcon,  "  crying  for  nothing  does 
a  woman  good." 

Christopher  stared  at  him. 

Falcon's  spirits  rose  as  they  proceeded.  He  was  like 
a  boy  let  loose  from  school.  His  fluency  and  charm  of 
manner  served,  however,  to  cheer  a  singularly  dreary 
journey. 

The  travellers  soon  entered  on  a  vast  and  forbidding 
region,  that  wearied  the  eye ;  at  their  feet  a  dull,  rusty 
carpet  of  dried  grass  and  wild  camomile,  with  pale-red 
sand  peeping  through  the  burnt  and  scanty  herbage. 
On  the  low  mounds,  that  looked  like  heaps  of  sifted 
ashes,  struggled  now  and  then  into  sickliness  a  ragged, 
twisted  shrub.  There  were  flowers  too,  but  so  sparse, 
that  they  sparkled  vainly  in  the  colorless  waste,  which 
stretched  to  the  horizon.  The  farmhouses  were  twenty 
miles  apart,  and  nine  out  of  ten  of  them  were  new  ones 
built  by  the  Boers  since  they  degenerated  into  white  sav- 
ages :  mere  huts,  with  domed  kitchens  behind  them.  In 
the  dwelling-house  the  whole  family  pigged  together,  with 
raw  flesh  drying  on  the  rafters,  stinking  skins  in  a  corner, 
parasitical  vermin  of  all  sorts  blackening  the  floor,  and 
particularly  a  small,  biting,  and  odoriferous  tortoise,  com- 
pared with  which  the  insect  a  London  washerwoman 
brings  into  your  house  in  her  basket,  is  a  stroke  with  a 
feather  —  and  all  this  without  the  excuse  of  penury ;  for 
many  of  these  were  shepherd  kings,  sheared  four  thou- 


A   SIMPLETON.  327 

sand  fleeces  a  year,  and  owned  a  hundred  horses  and 
horned  cattle. 

These  Boers  are  compelled,  by  unwritten  law,  to  receive 
travellers  and  water  their  cattle ;  but  our  travellers,  after 
one  or  two  experiences,  ceased  to  trouble  them;  for, 
added  to  the  dirt,  the  men  were  sullen,  the  women  moody, 
silent,  brainless ;  the  whole  reception  churlish.  Staines 
detected  in  them  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  they  had 
descended,  in  more  ways  than  one,  from  a  civilized  race ; 
and  the  superior  bearing  of  a  European  seemed  to  remind 
them  what  they  had  been,  and  might  have  been,  and  were 
not ;  so,  after  an  attempt  or  tw^o,  our  adventurers  avoided 
the  Boers,  and  tried  the  Kafirs.  They  found  the  savages 
socially  superior,  though  their  moral  character  does  not 
rank  high. 

The  Kafir  cabins  they  entered  were  caves,  lighted  only 
by  the  door,  but  deliciously  cool,  and  quite  clean ;  the 
floors  of  puddled  clay  or  ants'  nests,  and  very  clean.  On 
entering  these  cool  retreats,  the  flies  that  had  tormented 
them  shirked  the  cool  grot,  and  buzzed  off  to  the  nearest 
farm  to  batten  on  congenial  foulness.  On  the  fat,  round, 
glossy  babies,  not  a  speck  of  dirt,  whereas  the  little 
Boers  were  cakes  thereof.  The  Kafir  would  meet  them 
at  the  door,  his  clean  black  face  all  smiles  and  welcome. 
The  women  and  grown  girls  would  fling  a  spotless  hand- 
kerchief over  their  shoulders  in  a  moment,  and  display 
their  sno^vy  teeth,  in  unaffected  joy  at  sight  of  an 
Englishman. 

At  one  of  these  huts,  one  evening,  they  met  with 
something  St.  Paul  ranks  above  cleanliness  even,  viz., 
Christianity.  A  neighboring  lion  had  just  eaten  a 
Hottentot  f ante  de  mieux;  and  these  good  Kafirs  wanted 
the  Europeans  not  to  go  on  at  night  and  be  eaten  for 
dessert.  But  they  could  not  speak  a  word  of  English, 
and  pantomimic  expression  exists  in  theory  alone.     In 


328  A   SIMPLETON. 

vain  the  women  held  our  travellers  by  the  coat-tails,  and 
pointed  to  a  distant  wood.  In  vain  Kafir  ^jez-e  went  on 
all-fours  and  growled  sore.  But  at  last  a  savage  youth 
ran  to  the  kitchen  —  for  they  never  cook  in  the  house  — 
and  came  back  with  a  brand,  and  sketched,  on  the  wall 
of  the  hut,  a  lion  with  a  mane  down  to  the  ground,  and 
a  saucer  eye,  not  loving.  The  creature's  paw  rested  on  a 
hat  and  coat  and  another  fragment  or  two  of  a  European. 
The  rest  was  fore-shortened,  or  else  eaten. 

The  picture  completed,  the  females  looked,  aj^proved, 
and  raised  a  dismal  howl. 

"  A  lion  on  the  road,"  said  Christopher  gravely. 

Then  the  undaunted  Falcon  seized  the  charcoal,  and 
drew  an  Englishman  in  a  theatrical  attitude,  left  foot 
well  forward,  firing  a  gun,  and  a  lion  rolling  head  over 
heels  like  a  buck  rabbit,  and  blood  squirting  out  of  a  hole 
in  his  perforated  carcass. 

The  savages  saAv,  and  exulted.  They  were  so  off  their 
guard  as  to  confound  representation  with  fact ;  they  danced 
round  the  white  warrior,  and  launched  him  to  victory. 

"  Aha  ! "  said  Falcon,  "  I  took  the  shine  out  of  their 
lion,  didn't  I  ?  " 

"  You  did :  and  once  there  was  a  sculptor  who  showed 
a  lion  his  marble  group,  a  man  trampling  a  lion,  extract- 
ing his  tongue,  and  so  on ;  but  report  says  it  did  not 
convince  the  lionP 

"  Why,  no ;  a  lion  is  not  an  ass.  But,  for  your  com- 
fort, there  are  no  lions  in  this  part  of  the  world.  They 
are  myths.  There  were  lions  in  Africa.  But  now  they 
are  all  at  the  Zoo.     And  I  Avish  I  was  there  too." 

"  In  what  character  —  of  a  discontented  animal  —  with 
every  blessing  ?  They  would  not  take  you  in ;  too 
common  in  England.  Hallo!  this  is  something  new. 
What  lots  of  bushes  !  We  should  not  have  much  chance 
with  a  lion  here." 


A  SBIPLETON.  320 

"There  are  no  lions  :  it  is  not  the  Zoo,"  said  Falcon; 
but  he  spurred  on  faster. 

The  country,  however,  did  not  change  its  feature ; 
bushes  and  little  acacias  prevailed,  and  presently  dark 
forms  began  to  glide  across  at  intervals. 

The  travellers  held  their  breath,  and  pushed  on ;  Imt 
at  last  their  horses  flagged ;  so  they  thought  it  best  to 
stop  and  light  a  fire  and  stand  upon  their  guard. 

They  did  so,  and  Falcon  sat  with  his  rifle  cocked,  while 
Staines  boiled  coffee,  and  they  drank  it,  and  after  two 
hours'  halt,  pushed  on ;  and  at  last  the  bushes  got  more 
scattered,  and  they  were  on  the  dreary  plain  again. 
Falcon  drew  the  rein,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  they 
Avalked  their  horses  side  by  side. 

"  Well,  what  has  become  of  the  lions  ?  "  said  Falcon 
jauntily.  He  turned  in  his  saddle,  and  saw  a  large 
animal  stealing  behind  them  with  its  belly  to  the  very 
earth,  and  eyes  hot  coals ;  he  uttered  an  eldrich  screech, 
fired  both  barrels,  with  no  more  aim  than  a  baby,  and 
spurred  away,  yelling  like  a  demon.  The  animal  fled 
another  way,  in  equal  trepidation  at  those  tongues  of 
flame  and  loud  reports,  and  Christopher's  horse  reared 
and  plunged,  and  deposited  him  promptly  on  the  sward ; 
but  he  held  the  bridle,  mounted  again,  and  rode  after  his 
companion.  A  stern  chase  is  a  long  chase  ;  and  for  that 
or  some  other  reason  he  could  never  catch  him  again  till 
sunrise.  Being  caught,  he  ignored  the  lioness,  with  cool 
hauteur :  he  said  he  had  ridden  on  to  find  comfortable 
quarters  :  and  craved  thanks. 

This  was  literally  the  only  incident  worth  recording 
that  the  companions  met  with  in  three  hundred  miles. 

On  the  sixth  day  out,  towards  afternoon,  they  found 
by  inquiring  they  were  near  the  diamond  washings,  and 
the  short  route  was  pointed  out  by  an  exceptionally  civil 
Boer. 


330  A  SIMPLETON. 

But  Christopher's  eye  had  lighted  upon  a  sort  of  chain 
of  knolls,  or  little  round  hills,  devoid  of  vegetation,  and 
he  told  Falcon  he  would  like  to  inspect  these,  before 
going  farther. 

"  Oh,"  said  the  Boer,  "  they  are  not  on  my  farm,  thank 
goodness!  they  are  on  my  cousin  Bulteel's;"  and  he 
pointed  to  a  large  white  house  about  four  miles  distant, 
and  quite  off  the  road.  Nevertheless,  Staines  insisted 
on  going  to  it.  But  first  they  made  up  to  one  of  these 
knolls,  and  examined  it ;  it  was  about  thirty  feet  high, 
and  not  a  vestige  of  herbage  on  it ;  the  surface  was 
composed  of  sand  and  of  lumps  of  gray  limestone  very 
hard,  diversified  with  lots  of  quartz,  mica,  and  other  old 
formations. 

Staines  got  to  the  top  of  it  with  some  difficulty,  and 
examined  the  surface  all  over.  He  came  down  again, 
and  said,  "  All  these  little  hills  mark  hot  volcanic  action 
—  why,  they  are  like  boiling  earth-bubbles  —  Avliich  is 
the  very  thing,  under  certain  conditions,  to  turn  carbon- 
ate of  lime  into  diamonds.  Now  here  is  plenty  of  lime- 
stone unnaturally  hard ;  and  being  in  a  diamond  country, 
I  can  fancy  no  place  more  likely  to  be  the  matrix  than 
these  earth-bubbles.  Let  us  tether  the  horses,  and  use 
our  shovels." 

They  did  so ;  and  found  one  or  two  common  crystals, 
and  some  jasper,  and  a  piece  of  chalcedony  all  in  little 
bubbles,  but  no  diamond.  Falcon  said  it  was  wasting 
time. 

Just  then  the  proprietor,  a  gigantic,  pasty  colonist, 
camiC  up,  with  his  pipe,  and  stood^  calmly  looking  on. 
Staines  came  down,  and  made  a  sort  of  apology.  Bulteel 
smiled  quietly,  and  asked  what  harm  they  could  do  him, 
raking  that  rubbish.  "  Rake  it  all  avay,  mine  vriends," 
said  he  :  "  ve  shall  thank  you  moch." 

He  then  invited  them  languidly  to  his  house.     They 


A  SIMPLETON.  331 

went  witli  liim,  and  as  he  volunteered  no  more  remarks, 
they  qiiestioned  him,  and  learned  his  father  had  l)een  a 
Hollander,  and  so  had  his  vrow's.  This  accounted  for 
the  size  and  comparative  cleanliness  of  his  place.  It  was 
stuccoed  with  the  lime  of  the  country  outside,  and  was 
four  times  as  large  as  the  miserable  farmhouses  of  the 
degenerate  Boers.  For  all  this,  the  street  door  opened 
on  the  principal  room,  and  that  room  was  kitchen  and 
parlor,  only  very  large  and  wholesome.  "  But,  Lord," 
as  poor  dear  Pepys  used  to  blurt  out  —  "  to  see  how  some 
folk  understand  cleanliness !  " '  The  floor  was  made  of 
powdered  ants'  nests,  and  smeared  with  fresh  cow-dung 
every  day.  Yet  these  people  were  the  cleanest  Boers  in 
the  colony. 

The  vrow  met  them,  with  a  snow-white  collar  and 
cuffs  of  Hamburgh  linen,  and  the  brats  had  pasty  faces 
round  as  pumpkins,  but  shone  with  soap.  The  vrow  was 
also  pasty-faced,  but  gentle,  and  welcomed  them  with  a 
smile,  languid,  but  unequivocal. 

The  Hottentots  took  their  horses,  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Their  guns  were  put  in  a  corner.  A  clean  cloth  was 
spread,  and  they  saw  they  were  to  sup  and  sleep  there, 
though  the  words  of  invitation  were  never  spoken. 

At  supper,  sun-dried  flesh,  cabbage,  and  a  savory  dish 
the  travellers  returned  to  with  gusto.  Staines  asked 
what  it  was:  the  vrow  told  him  —  locusts.  They  had 
strijiped  her  garden,  and  filled  her  very  rooms,  and  fallen 
in  heaps  under  her  walls  ;  so  she  had  pressed  them,  by 
the  million,  into  cakes,  had  salted  them  lightly,  and 
stored  them,  and  they  were  excellent,  baked. 

After  supper,  the  accomi)lished  Heginald,  observing  a 
wire  guitar,  tuned  it  with  some  difiiculty,  and  so  twanged 
it,  and  sang  ditties  to  it,  that  the  flabby  giant's  pasty 
face  wore  a  look  of  dreamy  content  over  his  everlasting 
pipe  ;  and  in  the  morning,  after  a  silent  breakfast,  he 


332  A  SIMPLETON. 

said,  "  Mine  vriends,  stay  here  a  year  or  two,  and  rake 
in  mine  rubbish.  Ven  you  are  tired,  here  are  springbok 
and  antelopes,  and  you  can  shoot  mit  your  rifles,  and  ve 
vil  cook  them,  and  you  shall  zing  us  zongs  of  Vaderland." 

They  thanked  him  heartily,  and  said  they  would  stay 
a  few  days,  at  all  events. 

The  placid  Boer  went  a- farming ;  and  the  pair  shoul- 
dered their  pick  and  shovel,  and  worked  on  their  heap 
all  day,  and  found  a  number  of  pretty  stones,  but  no 
diamond. 

"  Come,"  said  Falcon,  "  we  must  go  to  the  river  ;  "  and 
Staines  acquiesced.     "  I  bow  to  experience,"  said  he. 

At  the  threshold  they  found  two  of  the  little  Bulteels, 
playing  with  j)ieces  of  quartz,  crystal,  etc.,  on  the  door- 
stone.  One  of  these  stones  caught  Staines's  eye  directly. 
It  sparkled  in  a  different  way  from  the  others :  he  exam- 
ined it :  it  was  the  size  of  a  white  haricot  bean,  and  one 
side  of  it  polished  by  friction.  He  looked  at  it,  and 
looked,  and  saw  that  it  refracted  the  light.  He  felt 
convinced  it  was  a  diamond. 

"Give  the  boy  a  penny  for  it,"  said  the  ingenious 
Falcon,  on  receiving  the  information. 

"  Oh ! "  said  Staines.     "  Take  advantage  of  a  child  ?  " 

He  borrowed  it  of  the  boy,  and  laid  it  on  the  table, 
after  supper.  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  this  is  what  we  were 
raking  in  your  kopjes  for,  and  could  not  find  it.  It 
belongs  to  little  Hans.  Will  you  sell  it  us  ?  We  are 
not  experts,  but  we  think  it  may  be  a  diamond.  We 
will  risk  ten  pounds  on  it." 

"  Ten  pounds  ! "  said  the  farmer.  "  Nay,  we  rob  not 
travellers,  mine  vriend." 

"  But  if  it  is  a  diamond,  it  is  worth  a  hundred.  See 
how  it  gains  fire  in  the  dusk." 

In  short,  they  forced  the  ten  pounds  on  him,  and  next 
day  went  to  work  on  another  kopje. 


A  SIMPLETON.  333 

But  the  simple  farmer's  conscience  smote  him.  It 
was  a  slack  time ;  so  he  sent  four  Hottentots,  with 
shovels,  to  help  these  friendly  maniacs.  These  worked 
away  gayly,  and  the  white  men  set  up  a  sorting  table, 
and  sorted  the  stuff,  and  hammered  the  nodules,  and  at 
last  found  a  little  stone  as  big  as  a  pea  that  refracted  the 
light.  Staines  showed  this  to  the  Hottentots,  and  their 
quick  eyes  discovered  two  more  that  day,  only  smaller. 

Next  da}^,  nothing  but  a  splinter  or  two. 

Then  Staines  determined  to  dig  deeper,  contrary  to 
the  general  impression.  He  gave  his  reason  :  "  Diamonds 
don't  fall  from  the  sky.  They  work  up  from  the  ground ; 
and  clearly  the  heat  must  be  greater  farther  down." 

Acting  on  this,  they  tried  the  next  strata,  but  found  it 
entirely  barren.  After  that,  however,  they  came  to  a 
fresh  layer  of  carbonate,  and  here,  Falcon  hammering  a 
large  lump  of  conglomerate,  out  leaped,  all  of  a  sudden, 
a  diamond  big  as  a  nut,  that  ran  along  the  earth,  gleam- 
ing like  a  star.  It  had  polished  angles  and  natural 
facets,  and  even  a  novice,  with  an  eye  in  his  head,  could 
see  it  was  a  diamond  of  the  purest  water.  Staines  and 
Falcon  shouted  with  delight,  and  made  the  blacks  a 
present  on  the  spot. 

They  showed  the  prize,  at  night,  and  begged  the  farmer 
to  take  to  digging.  There  was  ten  times  more  mon^^y 
beneath  his  soil  than  on  it. 

Not  he.    He  was  a  farmer :  did  not  believe  in  diamonds. 

Two  days  afterwards,  another  great  find.  Seven  small 
diamonds. 

Next  day,  a  stone  as  large  as  a  cob-nut,  and  with 
strange  and  beautiful  streaks.  They  carried  it  home  to 
dinner,  and  set  it  on  the  table,  and  told  the  family  it 
was  worth  a  thousand  pounds.  Bulteel  scarcely  looked 
at  it;  but  the  vrow  trembled  and  all  the  young  folk 
glowered  at  it. 


334  A  SIMPLETON. 

In  the  middle  of  dinner,  it  exploded  like  a  cracker, 
and  went  literally  into  diamond-dust. 

"  Dere  goes  von  tousand  pounds,'-  said  Bulteel,  with- 
out moving  a  muscle. 

Falcon  swore.  But  Staines  showed  fortitude.  "It 
was  laminated,"  said  he,  "and  exposure  to  the  air  was 
fatal." 

Owing  to  the  invaluable  assistance  of  the  Hottentots, 
they  had  in  less  than  a  month  collected  four  large  stones 
of  pure  water,  and  a  wineglassful  of  small  stones,  when, 
one  fine  day,  going  to  work  calmly  after  breakfast,  they 
found  some  tents  pitched,  and  at  least  a  score  of  dirty 
diggers,  bearded  like  the  pard,  at  work  on  the  ground. 
Staines  sent  Falcon  back  to  tell  Bulteel,  and  suggest  that 
he  should  at  once  order  them  off,  or,  better  still,  make 
terms  with  them.     The  phlegmatic  Boer  did  neitlier. 

In  twenty-four  hours  it  was  too  late.  The  place  was 
rushed.  In  other  words,  diggers  swarmed  to  the  spot, 
with  no  idea  of  law  but  digger's  law. 

A  thousand  tents  rose  like  mushrooms;  and  poor 
Bulteel  stood  smoking,  and  staring  amazed,  at  his  own 
door,  and  saw  a  veritable  procession  of  wagons,  Cape 
carts,  and  powdered  travellers  file  past  him  to  take  pos- 
session of  his  hillocks.  Him,  the  proprietor,  they  simply 
ignored ;  they  had  a  committee  who  were  to  deal  with 
all  obstructions,  landlords  and  tenants  included.  They 
themselves  measured  out  Bulteel's  farm  into  thirty-foot 
claims,  and  went  to  work  with  shovel  and  pick.  They 
held  Staines's  claim  sacred  —  tliat  was  diggers'  law ; 
but  they  confined  it  strictly  to  thirty  feet  square. 

Had  the  friends  resisted,  their  brains  would  have 
been  knocked  out.  However,  they  gained  this,  that 
dealers  poured  in,  and  the  market  not  being  yet  glutted, 
the  price  was  good.  Staines  sold  a  few  of  the  small 
stones  for  two  hundred  pounds.     He  showed  one  of  the 


A   SIMPLETON.  335 

larger  stones.  The  dealer's  eye  glittered,  but  he  offered 
only  three  hundred  pounds,  and  this  was  so  wide  of  the 
ascending  scale,  on  which  a  stone  of  that  importance  is 
priced,  that  Staines  reserved  it  for  sale  at  Cape  Town. 

Nevertheless,  he  afterwards  doubted  whether  he  had 
not  better  have  taken  it;  for  the  multitude  of  diggers 
turned  out  such  a  prodigious  number  of  diamonds  at 
Bulteel's  pan,  that  a  sort  of  panic  fell  on  the  market. 

These  dry  diggings  were  a  revelation  to  the  world. 
Men  began  to  think  the  diamond  perhaps  was  a  com- 
moner stone  than  any  one  had  dreamed  it  to  be. 

As  to  the  discovery  of  stones,  Staines  and  Falcon  lost 
nothing  by  being  confined  to  a  thirty-foot  claim.  Com- 
pelled to  dig  deeper,  they  got  into  a  rich  strata,  where 
they  found  garnets  by  the  pint,  and  some  small  dia- 
monds, and  at  last,  one  lucky  day,  their  largest  diamond. 
It  weighed  thirty-seven  carats,  and  was  a  rich  yellow. 
]S"ow,  when  a  diamond  is  clouded  or  off  color,  it  is  terri- 
bly depreciated ;  but  a  diamond  with  a  positive  color  is 
called  a  fancy  stone,  and  ranks  with  the  purest  stones. 

"I  wish  I  had  this  in  Cape  Town,"  said  Staines. 

"Why,  I'll  take  it  to  Cape  Town,  if  you  like,"  said 
the  changeable  Falcon. 

"  You  will  ?  "  said  Christopher,  surprised. 

"  ^Vhy  not  ?  I'm  not  much  of  a  digger.  I  can  serve 
our  interest  better  by  selling.  I  could  get  a  thousand 
pounds  for  this  at  Cape  Town." 

"  We  will  talk  of  that  quietly,"  said  Christopher. 

Xow,  the  fact  is.  Falcon,  as  a  digger,  was  not  worth  a 
pin.  He  could  not  sort.  His  eyes  would  not  bear  the 
blinding  glare  of  a  tropical  sun  upon  lime  and  dazzling 
bits  of  mica,  quartz,  crystal,  white  topaz,  etc.,  in  the 
midst  of  which  the  true  glint  of  the  royal  stone  had  to 
be  caught  in  a  moment.  He  could  not  sort,  and  he  had 
not  the  heart  to  dig.     The  only  way  to  make  him  earn 


336  A  SJ3IPLET0N. 

liis  half  was  to  turn  Mm  into  the  travelling  and  selling 
partner. 

Christopher  was  too  generous  to  tell  him  this ;  but  he 
acted  on  it,  and  said  he  thought  his  was  an  excellent 
2)roposal;  indeed,  he  had  better  take  all  the  diamonds 
they  had  got  to  Dale's  Kloof  first,  and  show  them  to  his 
wife,  for  her  consolation :  "  And  perhaps,"  said  he,  "  in  a 
matter  of  this  importance,  she  will  go  to  Cape  Town 
with  you,  and  try  the  market  there." 

"  All  right,"  said  Falcon. 

He  sat  and  brooded  over  the  matter  a  long  time,  and 
said,  "  Why  make  two  bites  of  a  cherry  ?  They  will 
only  give  us  half  the  value  at  Cape  Town ;  why  not  go 
by  the  steamer  to  England,  before  the  London  market 
is  glutted,  and  all  the  world  finds  out  that  diamonds  are 
as  common  as  dirt  ?  " 

"  Go  to  England !  What !  without  your  wife  ?  I'll 
never  be  a  party  to  that.  Me  part  man  and  wife !  If 
you  knew  my  own  story  "  — 

"  Why,  who  wants  you  ?  "  said  Reginald.  "  You  don't 
understand,  Phoebe  is  dying  to  visit  England  again; 
but  she  has  got  no  excuse.  If  you  like  to  give  her  one, 
she  will  be  much  obliged  to  you,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Oh,  that  is  a  very  different  matter.  If  Mrs.  Falcon 
can  leave  her  farm  "  — 

"  Oh,  that  brute  of  a  brother  of  hers  is  a  very  honest 
fellow,  for  that  matter.  She  can  trust  the  farm  to  him. 
Besides,  it  is  only  a  month's  voyage  by  the  mail  steamer." 

This  suggestion  of  Falcon's  set  Christopher's  heart 
bounding,  and  his  eyes  glistening.  But  he  restrained 
himself,  and  said,  "  This  takes  me  by  surprise ;  let  me 
smoke  a  pipe  over  it." 

He  not  only  did  that,  but  he  lay  awake  all  night. 

The  fact  is  that  for  some  time  past,  Christopher  had 
felt  sharp  twinges  of  conscience,  and  deep  misgivings  as 


A   SiML'LETON.  337 

to  the  course  lie  had  pursued  in  leaviug  his  wife  a  single 
day  in  the  dark.  Conii)lete  convalescence  had  cleared 
his  moral  sentiments,  and  perhaps,  after  all,  the  discovery 
of  the  diamonds  had  co-operated ;  since  now  the  insur- 
ance money  was  no  longer  iiecessary  to  keep  his  wife 
from  starving. 

"Ah!"  said  he;  "faith  is  a  great  quality;  and  how  I 
have  lacked  it !  " 

To  do  him  justice,  he  knew  his  wife's  excitable  nature, 
and  was  not  without  fears  of  some  disaster,  should  the 
news  be  communicated  to  her  unskilfully. 

But  this  proposal  of  Falcon's  made  the  way  clearer. 
Mrs.  Falcon,  though  not  a  lady,  had  all  a  lady's  delicacy, 
and  all  a  woman's  tact  and  tenderness.  He  knew  no  one 
in  the  world  more  fit  to  be  trusted  with  the  delicate  task 
of  breaking  to  his  Kosa  that  the  grave,  for  once,  was 
baffled,  and  her  husband  lived.  He  now  became  quite 
anxious  for  Falcon's  departure,  and  ardently  hoped  that 
worthy  had  not  deceived  himself  as  to  Mrs.  Falcon's 
desire  to  visit  England. 

In  short,  it  was  settled  that  Falcon  should  start  for 
Dale's  Kloof,  taking  with  him  the  diamonds,  believed  to 
be  worth  altogether  three  thousand  pounds  at  Cape 
Town,  and  nearly  as  much  again  in  England,  and  a  long 
letter  to  Mrs.  Falcon,  in  which  Staines  revealed  his  true 
story,  told  her  wl^ere  to  find  his  wife,  or  hear  of  her, 
viz.,  at  Kent  Villa,  G-ravesend,  and  sketched  an  outline 
of  instructions  as  to  the  way,  and  cunning  degrees,  by 
which  the  joyful  news  should  be  broken  to  her.  With 
this  he  sent  a  long  letter  to  be  given  to  Eosa  herself, 
but  not  till  she  should  know  all :  and  in  this  letter  he 
enclosed  the  ruby  ring  she  had  given  him.  That  ring 
had  never  left  his  finger,  by  sea  or  land,  in  sickness  or 
health. 

The  letter  to  Bosa  was  sealed.     The  two  letters  made 
22 


338  A   SIMPLETON. 

quite  a  packet ;  for,  in  the  letter  to  his  beloved  Eosa,  he 
told  her  everything  that  had  befallen  him.  It  was  a 
romance,  and  a  picture  of  love  ;  a  letter  to  lift  a  loving 
woman  to  heaven,  and  almost  reconcile  her  to  all  her 
bereaved  heart  had  suffered. 

This  letter,  written  with  many  tears  from  the  heart 
that  had  so  suffered,  and  was  now  softened  by  good 
fortune  and  bounding  with  joy,  Staines  entrusted  to 
Falcon,  together  with  the  other  diamonds,  and  with  many 
warm  shakings  of  the  hand,  started  him  on  his  way. 

'^But  mind,  Falcon,"  said  Christopher,  "I  shall  expect 
an  answer  from  Mrs.  Falcon  in  twenty  days  at  farthest. 
I  do  not  feel  so  sure  as  you  do  that  she  wants  to  go  to 
England ;  and,  if  not,  I  must  write  to  Uncle  Philip.  Give 
me  your  solemn  promise,  old  fellow,  an  answer  in  twenty 
days  —  if  you  have  to  send  a  Kafir  on  horseback." 

"  I  give  you  my  honor,"  said  Falcon  superbly. 

^^  Send  it  to  me  at  Bulteel's  Farm." 

"  All  right.     '  Dr.  Christie,  Bulteel's  Farm.'  " 

"Well  —  no.  Why  should  I  conceal  my  real  name 
any  longer  from  such  friends  as  you  and  your  wife  ? 
Christie  is  short  for  Christopher  —  that  is  my  Chris- 
tian name;  but  my  surname  is  Staines.  Write  to 
'Dr.  Staines.'" 

"Dr.  Staines!" 

"  Yes.     Did  you  ever  hear  of  me  ?  " 

Falcon  wore  a  strange  look.  "  I  almost  think  I  have. 
Down  at  Gravesend,  or  somewhere." 

"  That  is  curious.  Yes,  I  married  my  Kosa  there ; 
poor  thing!  God  bless  her;  God  comfort  her.  She 
thinks  me  dead." 

His  voice  trembled,  he  grasped  Falcon's  cold  hand  till 
the  latter  winced  again,  and  so  they  parted,  and  Falcon  rode 
off  muttering,  "Dr.  Staines  !  so  then  you  are  Dr.  Staines." 


A   iSlMi'LETON.  'Sod 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

EosA  Staines  had  youtli  on  her  side,  and  it  is  an  old 
saying  that  youth  will  not  be  denied.  Youth  struggled 
with  death  for  her,  and  won  the  battle. 

But  she  came  out  of  that  terrible  fight  weak  as  a  child. 
The  sweet  pale  face,  the  widow's  cap,  the  suit  of  deep 
black  —  it  was  long  ere  these  came  down  from  the  sick- 
room. And  when  they  did,  oh,  the  dead  blank !  The 
weary,  listless  life !  The  days  spent  in  sighs,  and  tears, 
and  desolation.  Solitude  !  solitude  !  Her  husband  was 
gone,  and  a  strange  woman  played  the  mother  to  her 
child  before  her  eyes. 

Uncle  Philip  was  devotedly  kind  to  her,  and  so  was 
her  father  ;  but  they  could  do  nothing  for  her. 

Months  rolled  on,  and  skinned  the  wound  over. 
Months  could  not  heal.  Her  boy  became  dearer  and 
dearer,  and  it  v/as  from  him  came  the  first  real  drops  of 
comfort,  however  feeble. 

She  used  to  read  her  lost  one's  diary  every  day,  and 
worship,  in  deep  sorrow,  the  mind  she  had  scarcely 
respected  until  it  was  too  late.  She  searched  in  his 
diary  to  find  his  will,  and  often  she  mourned  that  he  had 
written  on  it  so  few  things  she  could  obey.  Her  desire 
to  obey  the  dead,  whom,  living,  she  had  often  disobeyed, 
was  really  simple  and  touching.  She  would  mourn  to 
her  father  that  there  were  so  few  commands  to  her  in  his 
diary.  "  But,"  said  she,  "  memory  brings  me  back  his 
will  in  many  things,  and  to  obey  is  now  the  only  sad 
comfort  I  have." 

It  was  in  this  spirit  she  now  forced  herself  to  keep 


340  A   SIMPLETON. 

accounts.  No  fear  of  lier  wearing  stays  now ;  no 
X^owder ;  no  trimmings ;  no  waste. 

After  tlie  usual  delay,  lier  father  told  lier  slie  should 
instruct  a  solicitor  to  apply  to  the  insurance  company  for 
the  six  thousand  pounds.  She  refused  with  a  burst  of 
agony.  '•  The  price  of  his  life,"  she  screamed.  "  Never ! 
I'd  live  on  bread  and  water  sooner  than  touch  that  vile 
money." 

Her  father  remonstrated  gently.  But  she  was  immov- 
able.    "  No.     It  would  be  like  consenting  to  his  death." 

Then  Uncle  Philip  was  sent  for. 

He  set  her  child  on  her  knee ;  and  gave  her  a  pen. 
^^Come,"  said  he,  sternly,  "be  a  woman,  and  do  your 
duty  to  little  Christie." 

She  kissed  the  boy,  cried,  and  did  her  duty  meekly. 
But  when  the  money  was  brought  her,  she  flew  to  Uncle 
Philip,  and  said,  "  There !  there ! "  and  threw  it  all 
before  him,  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  He 
waited  patiently,  and  asked  her  what  he  was  to  do  with 
all  that :  invest  it  ? 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  for  my  little  Christie." 

"  And  pay  you  the  interest  quarterly." 

"Oh,  no,  no.  Dribble  us  out  a  little  as  we  want  it. 
That  is  the  way  to  be  truly  kind  to  a  simpleton.  I  hate 
that  word." 

"And  suppose  I  run  off  with  it?  Such  confiding 
geese  as  you  corrupt  a  man." 

"I  shall  never  corrupt  you.  Crusty  people  are  the 
soul  of  honor." 

"  Crusty  people  ! "  cried  Philip,  affecting  amazement. 
"\\Tiat  are  they?" 

She  bit  her  lip  and  colored  a  little;  but  answered 
adroitly,  "  They  are  people  that  pretend  not  to  have  good 
hearts,  but  have  the  best  in  the  world ;  far  better  ones 
than  your  smooth  ones  :  that's  crusty  people." 


A  SIMPLETON.  341 

'  ^' Very  well,"  said  riiilip;  "and  I'll  tell  y(3ii  what  sim- 
pletons are.  Tliey  are  little  transparent-looking  creatures 
that  look  shallow,  but  are  as  deep  as  Old  Niek,  and  make 
you  love  them  in  spite  of  your  judgment.  They  are  the 
most  artful  of  their  sex  ;  for  they  always  achieve  its 
great  object,  to  be  loved  —  the  very  thing  that  clever 
women  sometimes  fail  in." 

"  Well,  "and  if  we  are  not  to  be  loved,  why  live  at  all  — 
such  useless  things  as  I  am  ?  "  said  Rosa  simply. 

So  Philip  took  charge  of  her  money,  and  agreed  to 
help  her  save  money  for  her  little  Christopher.  Poverty 
should  never  destroy  him,  as  it  had  his  father. 

As  months  rolled  on,  she  crept  out  into  public  a  little ; 
but  always  on  foot,  and  a  very  little  way  from  home. 

Youth  and  sober  life  gradually  restored  her  strength, 
but  not  her  color,  nor  her  buoyancy. 

Yet  she  was  perhaps  more  beautiful  than  ever ;  for  a 
holy  sorrow  chastened  and  sublimed  her  features  :  it  was 
now  a  sweet,  angelic,  pensive  beauty,  that  interested 
every  feeling  person  at  a  glance. 

She  would  visit  no  one ;  but  a  twelvemonth  after  her 
bereavement,  she  received  a  few  chosen  visitors. 

One  day  a  young  gentleman  called,  and  sent  up  his 
card,  "  Lord  Tadcaster,"  with  a  note  from  Lady  Cicely 
Treherne,  full  of  kindly  feeling.  Uncle  Philip  had 
reconciled  her  to  Lady  Cicely;  but  they  had  never 
met. 

Mrs.  Staines  was  much  agitated  at  the  very  name  of 
Lord  Tadcaster ;  but  she  would  not  have  missed  seeing 
him  for  the  world. 

She  received  him  with  her  beautiful  eyes  wide  open, 
to  drink  in  every  lineament  of  one  who  had  seen  the 
last  of  her  Christopher. 

Tadcaster  was  wonderfully  improved :  he  had  grown 
six  inches  out  at  sea,  and  though  still  short,  was  not 


342  A   SIMPLETON. 

diminutive ;  he  was  a  small  Apollo,  a  model  of  symmetry, 
and  had  an  engaging,  girlish  beauty,  redeemed  from 
downright  effeminacy  by  a  golden  mustache  like  silk, 
and  a  tanned  cheek  that  became  him  wonderfully. 

He  seemed  dazzled  at  first  by  Mrs,  Staines,  but  mur- 
mured that  Lady  Cicely  had  told  him  to  come,  or  he 
would  not  have  ventured. 

"  Who  can  be  so  welcome  to  me  as  you  ?  "  said  she, 
and  the  tears  came  thick  in  her  eyes  directly. 

Soon,  he  hardly  knew  how,  he  found  himself  talking 
of  Staines,  and  telling  her  what  a  favorite  he  was,  and 
all  the  clever  things  he  had  done. 

The  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks,  but  she  begged 
him  to  go  on  telling  her,  and  omit  nothing. 

He  complied  heartily,  and  was  even  so  moved  by  the 
telling  of  his  friend's  virtues,  and  her  tears  and  sobs, 
that  he  mingled  his  tears  with  hers.  She  rewarded  him 
by  giving  him  her  hand  as  she  turned  away  her  tearful 
face  to  indulge  the  fresh  burst  of  grief  his  sympathy 
evoked. 

When  he  was  leaving,  she  said,  in  her  simple  way, 
''  Bless  you  "  —  "  Come  again,"  she  said :  "  you  have 
done  a  poor  widow  good.'^ 

Lord  Tadcaster  was  so  interested  and  charmed,  he 
would  gladly  have  come  back  next  day  to  see  her ;  but 
he  restrained  that  extravagance,  and  waited  a  week. 

Then  he  visited  hei  again.  He  had  observed  the  villa 
was  not  rich  in  flowers,  and  he  took  her  down  a  magnifi- 
cent bouquet,  cut  from  his  father's  hot-houses.  At  sight 
of  him,  or  at  sight  of  it,  or  both,  the  color  rose  for 
once  in  her  pale  cheek,  and  her  pensive  face  wore  a 
sweet  expression  of  satisfaction.  She  took  his  flowers, 
and  thanked  him  for  them,  and  for  coming  to  see  her. 

Soon  they  got  on  the  only  topic  she  cared  for,  and,  in 
the  course  of  this  second  conversation,  he  took  her  into 


A  SIMPLETON.  343 

his  confidence,  and  told  her  he  owed  everything  to  Dr. 
Staines.  "I  was  on  the  wrong  road  altogether,  and  lie 
put  me  right.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I  used  to  disobey 
him  now  and  then,  while  he  was  alive,  and  I  was  always 
the  w^orse  for  it ;  now  he  is  gone,  I  never  disobey  him. 
I  have  written  down  a  lot  of  wise,  kind  things  he  said 
to  me,  and  I  never  go  against  any  one  of  them.  I  call  it 
my  book  of  oracles.  Dear  me,  I  might  have  brought  it 
with  me." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  why  didn't  you  ?  "  rather  reproachfully. 

"  I  will  bring,  it  next  time.'' 

"  Pray  do." 

Then  she  looked  at  him  with  her  lovely  swimming 
eyes,  and  said  tenderly,  "And  so  here  is  another  that 
disobeyed  him  living,  but  obeys  him  dead.  What  will 
you  think  when  I  tell  you  that  I,  his  wife,  who  now 
worship  him  when  it  is  too  late,  often  thwarted  and 
vexed  him  when  he  was  alive  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  He  told  me-  you  were  an  angel,  and  I  believe 
it." 

"  An  angel  !  a  good-for-nothing,  foolish  woman,  wdio 
sees  everything  too  late." 

"  Nobody  else  should  say  so  before  me,"  said  the  little 
gentleman  grandly.  "  I  shall  take  his  word  before  yours 
on  this  one  subject.  If  ever  there  was  an  angel,  you  are 
one ;  and  oh,  what  Avould  I  give  if  I  could  but  say  or  do 
anything  in  the  world  to  comfort  you  ! " 

"  You  can  do  nothing  for  me,  dear,  but  come  and  see 
me  often,  and  talk  to  me  as  you  do  —  on  the  one  sad 
theme  my  broken  heart  has  room  for." 

This  invitation  delighted  Lord  Tadcaster,  and  the 
sweet  word  "dear,"  from  her  lovely  lips,  entered  his 
heart,  and  ran  through  all  his  veins  like  some  rapturous 
but  dangerous  elixir.  He  did  not  say  to  himself,  "  She 
is  a  widow  with  a  child,  feels  old  with  grief,  and  looks 


344  A    SIMPLETON. 

on  1110  as  a  boy  who  lias  been  kind  to  her."  Such  pru- 
dence and  wariness  were  hardly  to  be  expected  from  his 
age.  He  had  admired  her  at  first  sight,  very  nearly 
loved  her  at  their  first  interview,  and  now  this  sweet 
word  opened  a  heavenly  vista.  The  generous  heart  that 
beat  ill  his  small  frame  burned  to  console  her  with  a 
life-long  devotion  and  all  the  sweet  offices  of  love. 

He  ordered  his  yacht  to  Gravesend  —  for  he  had  become 
a  sailor  —  and  then  he  called  on  Mrs.  Staines,  and  told 
her,  with  a  sort  of  sheepish  cunning,  that  now,  as  his 
yacht  hxq^pened  to  be  at  Gravesend,  he  could  come  and 
see  her  very  often.  He  watched  her  timidly,  to  see  how 
she  would  take  that  proposition. 

She  said,  with  the  utmost  simplicity,  "  I'm  very  glad 
of  it." 

Then  he  produced  his  oracles  :  and  she  devoured  them. 
Such  precepts  to  Tadcaster  as  she  could  apply  to  her  own 
case  she  instantly  noted  in  her  memory,  and  they  became 
her  law  from  that  moment. 

Then,  in  her  simplicity,  she  said,  "And  I  will  show 
you  some  things,  in  his  own  handwriting,  that  may  be 
good  for  you;  but  I  can't  show  you  the  whole  book: 
some  of  it  is  sacred  from  every  eye  but  his  wife's.  His 
wife's  ?     Ah  me  !  his  widow's." 

Then  she  pointed  out  passages  in  the  diary  that  she 
thought  might  be  for  his  good ;  and  he  nestled  to  her 
side,  and  followed  her  white  finger  with  loving  eyes,  and 
was  in  an  elysium  —  which  she  would  certainly  have 
put  a  stop  to  at  that  time,  had  she  divined  it.  But  all 
wisdom  does  not  come  at  once  to  an  unguarded  woman. 
Rosa  Staines  was  wiser  about  her  husband  than  she  had 
been,  but  she  had  plenty  to  learn. 

Lord  Tadcaster  anchored  off  Gravesend,  and  visited 
Mrs.  Staines  nearly  every  day.  She  received  him  with 
a  pleasure  that  was  not  at  all  lively,  but  quite  undis- 


A  SIMrLETON.  34^ 

guised.  He  could  not  doiil)t  his  welcome ;  for  once, 
when  he  came,  she  said  to  the  servant,  "  Kot  at  home,"  a 
plain  proof  she  did  not  wish  liis  visit  to  be  cut  short  hy 
any  one  else. 

And  so  these  visits  and  devoted  attentions  of  every 
kind  went  on  unobserved  by  Lord  Tadcaster's  friends, 
because  Eosa  would  never  go  out,  even  with  him  ;  but  at 
last  Mr.  Lusignan  saw  plainly  how  this  would  end,  unless 
he  interfered. 

Well,  he  did  not  interfere ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was 
careful  to  avoid  putting  his  daughter  on  her  guard :  he 
said  to  himself,  "Lord  Tadcaster  does  her  good.  I'm 
afraid  she  would  not  marry  him,  if  he  was  to  ask  her 
now ;  but  in  time  she  might.  She  likes  him  a  great  deal 
better  than  any  one  else." 

As  for  Philip,  he  was  abroad  for  his  own  health,  some- 
what impaired  by  his  long  and  faithful  attendance  on 
Rosa. 

So  now  Lord  Tadcaster  was  in  constant  attendance  on 
Rosa.  She  was  languid,  but  gentle  and  kind ;  and,  as 
mourners,  like  invalids,  are  apt  to  be  egotistical,  she  saw 
nothing  but  that  he  was  a  comfort  to  her  in  her  affliction. 

While  matters  were  so,  the  Earl  of  Miltshire,  who 
had  long  been  sinking,  died,  and  Tadcaster  succeeded  to 
his  honors  and  estates. 

Rosa  heard  of  it,  and,  thinking  it  was  a  great  bereave- 
ment, wrote  him  one  of  those  exquisite  letters  of  con- 
dolence a  lady  alone  can  write.  He  took  it  to  Lady 
Cicely,  and  showed  it  her.     She  highly  approved  it. 

He  said,  "  The  only  thing  —  it  makes  me  ashamed,  I 
do  not  feel  my  poor  father's  death  more  ;  but  you  know 
it  has  been  so  long  expected."  Then  he  was  silent  a 
long  time ;  and  then  he  asked  her  if  such  a  woman  as 
that  would  not  make  him  happy,  if  he  could  win  her. 

It  was  on  her  ladyship's  tongue  to  say,  "  She  did  not 


346  A   SIMPLETON. 

make  her  first  happy ; "  but  slie  forbore,  and  said  coldly^ 
that  was  maw  than  she  coukl  say. 

Tadcaster  seemed  disappointed  by  that,  and  by  and  by 
Cicely  took  herself  to  task.  She  asked  herself  what 
were  Tadcaster's  chances  in  the  lottery  of  wives.  The 
heavy  army  of  scheming  mothers,  and  the  light  cavalry 
of  artful  daughters,  rose  before  her  cousinly  and  disin- 
terested eyes,  and  she  asked  herself  what  chance  poor 
little  Tadcaster  would  have  of  catching  a  true  love,  with 
a  hundred  female  artists  manoeuvring,  wheeling,  ambus- 
cading, and  charging  upon  his  wealth  and  titles.  She 
returned  to  the  subject  of  her  own  accord,  and  told  him 
she  saw  but  one  objection  to  such  a  match :  the  lady  had 
a  son  by  a  man  of  rare  merit  and  misfortune.  Could 
he,  at  his  age,  undertake  to  be  a  father  to  that  son  ? 
"  Othahwise,"  said  Lady  Cicely,  '"  mark  my  words,  you 
will  quail  over  that  poor  child ;  and  you  will  have  two 
to  quail  with,  because  I  shall  be  on  her  side." 

Tadcaster  declared  to  her  that  child  should  be  quite 
the  opposite  of  a  bone  of  contention.  "■  I  have  thought 
of  that,"  said  he,  "  and  I  mean  to  be  so  kind  to  that  boy, 
I  shall  make  her  love  me  for  that." 

On  these  terms  Lady  Cicely  gave  her  consent. 

Tlien  he  asked  her  should  he  write,  or  ask  her  in 
person. 

Lady  Cicely  reflected.  "If  you  write,  I  think  she 
will  say  no." 

"But  if  I  go?" 

"  Then,  it  will  depend  on  how  you  do  it.  Kosa  Staines 
is  a  true  mourner.  Whatever  you  may  think,  I  don't 
believe  the  idea  of  a  second  union  has  ever  entered  her 
head.  But  then  she  is  very  unselfish :  and  she  likes 
you  better  than  any  one  else,  I  dare  say.  I  don't  think 
your  title  or  your  money  will  weigh  with  her  now.  I>ut, 
if  you  show  her  your  happiness  depends  on  it,  she  may, 


A    STMPr.KTON.  o47 

perhaps,  cwy  and  sob  at  the  very  idea  of  it,  and  then, 
after  all,  say,  'Well,  why  not — if  I  can  make  the  poor 
soul  happy  ?  '  " 

So,  on  this  advice,  Tadcaster  went  down  to  Gravesend, 
and  Lady  Cicely  felt  a  certain  self-satisfaction ;  for,  her 
well-meant  interference  having  lost  Kosa  one  husband, 
she  was  pleased  to  think  she  had  done  something  to 
give  her  another. 

Lord  Tadcaster  came  to  Rosa  Staines;  he  found  her 
seated  with  her  head  upon  her  white  hand,  thinking 
sadly  of  the  past. 

At  sight  of  him  in  deep  mourning,  she  started,  and 
said,  "  Oh  !  " 

Then  she  said  tenderly,  "We  are  of  one  color  now," 
and  gave  him  her  hand. 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  not  knowing  how  to  begin. 

"I  am  not  Tadcaster  now.     I  am  Earl  of  Miltshire." 

"  Ah,  yes  ;  I  forgot,"  said  she  indifferently. 

"  This  is  my  first  visit  to  any  one  in  that  character." 

"Thank  you." 

"  It  is  an  awfully  important  visit  to  me.  I  could  not 
feel  myself  independent,  and  able  to  secure  your  com- 
fort and  little  Christie's,  without  coming  to  the  lady,  the 
only  lady  I  ever  saw,  that  —  oh,  Mrs.  Staines — Rosa  — 
who  could  see  you,  as  I  have  done  —  mingle  his  tears 
with  yours,  as  I  have  done,  and  not  love  you,  and  long 
to  offer  you  his  love  ?  " 

"  Love !  to  me,  a  broken-hearted  woman,  with  nothing 
to  live  for  but  his  memory  and  his  child." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of  scared  amazement. 

"  His  child  shall  be  mine.  His  memory  is  almost  as 
dear  to  me  as  to  you." 

J'  iSTonsense,  child,  nonsense !  "  said  she,  almost  sternly. 

"  Was  he  not  my  best  friend  ?  Shoidd  I  have  the 
health  I  enjoy,  or  even  be  alive,  but  for  him  ?    Oh,  Mrs. 


348  A  SIMPLETON. 

Staines  — Kosa,  you  will  not  live  all  your  life  unmarried; 
and  who  will  love  you  as  I  do  ?  You  are  my  first  and 
only  love.     My  happiness  depends  on  you." 

"  Your  happiness  depend  on  me  !  Heaven  forbid  —  a 
woman  of  my  age,  that  feels  so  old,  old,  old." 

"  You  are  not  old ;  you  are  young,  and  sad,  and  beauti- 
ful, and  my  happiness  depends  on  you."  She  began  to 
tremble  a  little.  Then  he  kneeled  at  her  knees,  and  im- 
plored her,  and  his  hot  tears  fell  upon  the  hand  she  put 
out  to  stop  him,  while  she  turned  her  head  away,  and 
the  tears  began  to  run. 

Oh  !  never  can  the  cold  dissecting  pen  tell  what  rushes 
over  the  heart  that  has  loved  and  lost,  when  another  true 
love  first  kneels  and  implores  for  love,  or  pity,  or  any- 
thing the  bereaved  can  give. 


A   SlMrLETOK. 


CHAPTER   XXTII. 

Whex  Falcon  went,  luck  seemed  to  desert  their  claim  : 
day  after  day  went  by  without  a  find ;  and  the  discov- 
eries on  every  side  made  this  the  more  mortifying. 

By  this  time  the  diggers  at  Bulteel's  pan  were  as  mis- 
cellaneous as  the  audience  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  only 
mixed  more  closely ;  the  gallery  folk  and  the  stalls 
worked  cheek  by  jowl.  Here  a  gentleman  with  an  af- 
fected lisp,  and  close  by  an  honest  fellow,  who  could  not 
deliver  a  sentence  without  an  oath,  or  some  still  more 
horrible  expletive  that  meant  nothing  at  all  in  reality, 
but  served  to  make  respectable  flesh  creep :  interspersed 
with  these,  Hottentots,  Kafirs,  and  wild  blue  blacks 
gayly  clad  in  an  ostrich  feather,  a  scarlet  ribl)on,  and  a 
Tower  musket  sold  them  by  some  good  Christian  for  a 
modern  rifle. 

On  one  side  of  Staines  were  two  swells,  who  lay  on 
their  backs  and  talked  opera  half  the  day,  but  seldom 
condescended  to  work  without  finding  a  diamond  of 
some  sort. 

After  a  week's  deplorable  luck,  his  Kafir  boy  struck 
work  on  account  of  a  sore  in  his  leg ;  the  sore  was  due 
to  a  very  common  cause,  the  burning  sand  had  got  into 
a  scratch,  and  festered.  Staines,  out  of  humanity,  ex- 
amined the  sore ;  and  proceeding  to  clean  it,  before 
bandaging,  out  popped  a  diamond  worth  forty  pounds, 
even  in  the  depreciated  market.  Staines  quietly  pocketed 
it,  and  bandaged  the  leg.  This  made  him  suspect  his 
blacks  had  been  cheating  him  on  a  large  scale,  and  he 
borrowed   Hans   Bulteel  to  watch  them,  giving  him  a 


350  A   SIMPLETON. 

third,  with  which  Master  Hans  was  mightily  pleased. 
But  they  could  only  find  small  diamonds,  and  by  this 
time  prodigious  slices  of  luck  were  reported  on  every 
side.  Kafirs  and  Boers  that  would  not  dig,  but  traversed 
large  tracts  of  ground  when  the  sun  was  shining,  stumbled 
over  diamonds.  One  Boer  pointed  to  a  wagon  and  eight 
oxen,  and  said  that  one  lucky  glance  on  the  sand  had 
given  him  that  lot :  but  day  after  day  Staines  returned 
home,  covered  with  dust,  and  almost  blinded,  yet  with 
little  or  nothing  to  show  for  it. 

One  evening,  complaining  of  his  change  of  luck,  lUilteel 
quietly  proposed  to  him  migration.  "  I  am  going,"  said 
he  resignedly :  "and  you  can  come  with  me." 

"  You  leave  your  farm,  sir  ?  Why,  they  pay  you  ten 
shillings  a  claim,  and  that  must  make  a  large  return ; 
the  pan  is  fifteen  acres." 

"Yes,  mine  vriend,"  said  the  poor  Hollander,  "they 
pay;  but  deir  money  it  cost  too  dear.  Vere  is  mine 
peace  ?  Dis  farm  is  six  tousand  acres.  If  de  cursed 
diamonds  was  farther  off,  den  it  vas  veil.  But  dey  are 
too  near.  Once  I  could  smoke  in  peace,  and  zleep.  Now 
diamonds  is  come,  and  zleep  and  peace  is  fled.  Dere  is 
four  tousand  tents,  and  to  each  tent  a  dawg ;  dat  dawg 
bark  at  four  tousand  other  dawgs  all  night,  and  dey  bark 
at  him  and  at  each  oder.  Den  de  masters  of  de  dawgs  dey 
get  angry,  and  fire  four  tousand  pistole  at  de  four  tousand 
dawgs,  and  make  my  bed  shake  wid  the  trembling  of 
mine  vrow.  My  vamily  is  with  diamonds  infected.  Dey 
vill  not  vork.  Dey  takes  long  valks,  and  always  looks 
on  de  ground.  Mine  childre  shall  be  hump-backed, 
round-shouldered,  looking  down  for  diamonds.  Dey 
shall  forget  Gott.  He  is  on  high :  dere  eyes  are  always 
on  de  earth.  De  diggers  found  a  diamond  in  mine  plas- 
ter of  mine  wall  of  mine  house,  Dat  plaster  vas  lime- 
stone ;  it  come  from  dose  kopjes  de  good  Gott  made  ia 


A   SIMPLETON.  351 

His  auger  against  man  for  his  vickedness.  I  zay  so. 
Dey  not  believe  me.  Dey  tink  dem  abominable  stones 
grow  in  mine  house,  and  break  out  in  mine  plaster  like 
de  measle :  dey  vaunt  to  dig  in  mine  wall,  in  mine  gar- 
den, in  mine  floor.  One  day  dey  shall  dig  in  mine  body. 
I  vill  go.  Better  I  love  peace  dan  money.  Here  is 
English  company  make  me  offer  for  mine  varm.  Dey 
forgive  de  diamonds.'' 

"  You  have  not  accepted  it  ?  "  cried  Staines  in  alarm. 

"  No,  but  I  vill.  I  have  said  I  shall  tink  of  it.  Dat 
is  my  vay.     So  I  say  yah." 

"  An  English  company  ?  They  will  cheat  you  without 
mercy.  No,  they  shall  not,  though,  for  I  will  have  a 
hand  in  the  bargain." 

He  set  to  work  directly,  added  up  the  value  of  the 
claims,  at  ten  shillings  per  month,  and  amazed  the  poor 
Hollander  by  his  statement  of  the  value  of  those  fifteen 
acres,  capitalized. 

And  to  close  this  part  of  the  subject,  the  obnoxious 
diamonds  obtained  him  three  times  as  much  as  his  father 
had  given  for  the  whole  six  thousand  acres. 

The  company  got  a  great  bargain,  but  Bulteel  received 
what  for  him  was  a  large  capital,  and  settling  far  to  the 
south,  this  lineal  descendant  of  le  'philosoijhe  sans  le 
savoir  carried  his  godliness,  his  cleanliness,  and  his  love 
of  peace,  out  of  the  turmoil,  and  was  happier  than  ever, 
since  now  he  could  compare  his  placid  existence  with 
one  year  of  noise  and  clamor. 

But  long  before  this,  events  more  pertinent  to  my 
story  had  occurred. 

One  day,  a  Hottentot  came  into  Bulteel's  farm  and 
went  out  among  the  diggers,  till  he  found  Staines.  The 
Hottentot  was  one  employed  at  Dale's  Kloof,  and  knew 
him.     He  brought  Staines  a  letter. 

Staines  opened  the  letter,  and  another  letter  fell  out  j 
it  was  directed  to  "Reginald  Falcon,  Esq." 


352  A   SIMPLETON. 

"Why,"  thouglit  Staines,  "what  a  time  this  letter 
must  have  been  on  the  road  !  So  much  for  private  mess- 
engers." 

The  letter  ran  thus :  — 


Dear  Sir,  —  This  leaves  us  all  well  at  Dale's  Kloof,  as  I 
hojje  it  shall  find  you  and  my  dear  husband  at  the  digguigs. 
Sir,  I  am  happy  to  say  1  have  good  news  for  you.  AVhen  you 
got  well  by  God's  mercy,  I  wrote  to  the  doctor  at  the  hospital 
and  told  him  so.  I  wrote  unbeknown  to  you,  because  I  had 
promised  him.  Well,  sir,  he  has  written  back  to  say  you  have 
two  hundred  j^ounds  in  money,  and  a  great  many  valuable 
things,  such  as  gold  and  jewels.  They  are  all  at  the  old  bank 
in  Cape  Town,  and  the  cashier  has  seen  you,  and  will  deliver 
them  on  demand.  So  that  is  the  first  of  my  good  news,  because 
it  is  good  news  to  you.  But,  dear  sir,  I  think  you  will  be 
pleased  to  hear  that  Dick  and  I  are  thriving  wonderfully, 
thanks  to  your  good  advice.  The  wooden  house  it  is  built,  and 
a  great  oven.  But,  sir,  the  traffic  came  almost  before  we  were 
ready,  and  the  miners  that  call  here,  coming  and  going,  every 
day,  you  would  not  believe,  likewise  wagons  and  carts.  It  is 
all  bustle,  morn  till  night,  and  dear  Reginald  will  never  be 
dull  here  now ;  I  hope  you  will  be  so  kind  as  tell  him  so,  for 
1  do  long  to  see  you  both  home  again. 

Sir,  we  are  making  our  fortunes.  The  grain  we  could  not 
sell  at  a  fair  price,  we  sell  as  bread,  and  higher  than  in  England 
ever  so  much.  Tea  and  coftee  the  same ;  and  the  poor  things 
Ijraise  us,  too,  for  being  so  moderate.  So,  sir,  Dick  bids  mo 
say  that  we  owe  this  to  you,  and  if  so  be  you  are  minded  to 
share,  why  nothing  would  please  us  better.  Head-piece  is 
always  worth  money  in  these  parts  ;  and  if  it  hurts  your  pride 
to  be  our  partner  without  money,  why  you  can  throw  in  what 
you  have  at  the  Cape,  though  we  don't  ask  that.  And,  besides, 
we  are  offered  diamonds  a  bargain  every  day,  but  are  afraid  to 
deal,  for  want  of  experience  ;  but  if  you  were  in  it  with  us,  you 
nuist  know  them  well  by  this  time,  and  we  might  turn  many  a 
good  pound  that  way.  Dear  sir,  I  hope  you  will  not  be  otfended, 
but  1  think  this  is  the  only  way  we  have,  Dick  and  I,  to  show 
our  respect  and  good- will. 


A   SIMPLETON.  353 

Dear  sir,  digging  is  liard  work,  and  not  fit  for  you  and 
Kt'ginald,  that  are  gentlemen,  amongst  a  lot  of  rongli  fellows, 
that  their  talk  makes  my  hair  stand  on  end,  though  I  dare  say 
they  mean  no  harm. 

Your  bedroom  is  always  ready,  sir.  I  never  will  let  it  to 
any  of  them,  hoping  now  to  see  you  every  day.  You  that 
know  everything,  can  guess  how  I  long  to  see  you  both  liome. 
My  very  good  fortune  seems  not  to  taste  like  good  fortune, 
without  those  I  love  and  esteem  to  share  it.  I  shall  count  how 
many  days  this  letter  will  take  to  reach  you,  and  then  I  shall 
2)ray  for  your  safety  harder  than  ever,  till  the  blessed  hour 
comes  when  I  see  my  husband,  and  my  good  friend,  never  to 
part  again,  I  hope,  in  this  world. 

I  am  sir,  your  dutiful  servant  and  friend, 

Phcebe  Dale. 

P.S.  There  is  regular  travelling  to  and  from  Cape  Town, 
and  a  jDOst  now  to  Pniel,  but  I  thought  it  surest  to  send  by  one 
that  knows  you. 

Staines  read  this  letter  with  great  satisfaction.  He 
remembered  his  two  hundred  pounds,  but  his  gold  and 
jewels  puzzled  him.  Still  it  was  good  news,  and  pleased 
him  not  a  little.  Phoebe's  good  fortune  gratified  him  too, 
and  her  offer  of  a  partnership,  especially  in  the  purchase 
of  diamonds  from  returning  diggers.  He  saw  a  large 
fortune  to  be  made ;  and  wearied  and  disgusted  with 
recent  ill-luck,  blear-eyed  and  almost  blinded  wdtli  sort- 
ing in  the  blazing  sun,  he  resolved  to  go  at  once  to  Dale's 
Kloof.  Should  Mrs.  Falcon  be  gone  to  England  with  the 
diamonds,  he  would  stay  there,  and  Eosa  should  come  out 
to  him,  or  he  would  go  and  fetch  her. 

He  w^ent  home,  and  washed  himself,  and  told  Bulteel 
he  had  had  good  news,  and  should  leave  the  diggings  at 
once.  He  gave  him  up  the  claim,  and  told  him  to  sell 
it  by  auction.  It  was  worth  two  hundred  pounds  still. 
The  good  people  sympathized  with  him,  and  he  started 
within  an  hour.     He  left  his  pickaxe  and  shovel,  and 


o54  A   SIMPLETON. 

took  only  his  double  rifle,  an  admirable  one,  some  ammu- 
idtion,  including  eonical  bullets  and  projectile  shells 
given  him  by  Falcon,  a  bag  full  of  carbuncles  and  garnets 
he  had  collected  for  Ucatella,  a  few  small  diamonds,  and 
one  hundred  pounds,  —  all  that  remained  to  him,  since 
he  had  been  pa3dng  wages  and  other  things  for  months, 
and  had  given  Falcon  twenty  for  his  journey. 

He  rode  away  and  soon  put  twenty  miles  between  him 
and  the  diggings. 

He  came  to  a  little  store  that  bought  diamonds  and 
sold  groceries  and  tobacco.  He  haltered  his  horse  to  a 
hook,  and  went  in.  He  oifered  a  small  diamond  for  sale. 
The  master  was  out,  and  the  assistant  said  there  was  a 
glut  of  these  small  stones,  he  did  not  care  to  give  money 
for  it. 

"Well,  give  me  three  dozen  cigars." 

AVhile  they  were  chaffering,  in  walked  a  Hottentot,  and 
said,  "  Will  you  buy  this  ?  ^'  and  laid  a  clear,  glittering 
stone  on  the  counter,  as  large  as  a  walnut. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man.     "  How  much  ?  " 

"  Two  hundred  pounds." 

"Two  hundred  pounds  !  Let  us  look  at  it;"  he  exam- 
ined it,  and  said  he  thought  it  was  a  diamond,  but  these 
large  stones  were  so  deceitful,  he  dared  not  give  two 
hundred  pounds.  "Come  again  in  an  hour,"  said  he, 
"  then  the  master  will  be  in." 

"  No,"  said  the  Hottentot  quietly,  and  Avalked  out. 

Staines,  Avho  had  been  literally  perspiring  at  the  sight 
of  this  stone,  mounted  his  horse  and  followed  the  man. 
When  he  came  up  to  him,  he  asked  leave  to  examine  the 
gem.     The  Hottentot  quietly  assented. 

Staines  looked  at  it  all  over.  It  had  a  rough  side  and 
a  polished  side,  and  the  latter  was  of  amazing  softness 
and  lustre.  It  made  him  tremble.  He  said,  "Look  here, 
I  have  only  one  hundred  pounds  in  my  pocket." 


A  SIMPLETON.  355 

The  Hottentot  shook  his  head. 

"  But  if  you  will  go  back  with  ine  to  Bulteel's  farm, 
I'H  borrow  the  other  hundred." 

The  Hottentot  declined,  and  told  him  he  could  get  four 
himdred  pounds  for  it  by  going  back  to  Puiel.  "  But," 
said  he,  "my  face  is  turned  so;  and  when  Squat  turn  his 
face  so,  he  going  home.  Not  can  bear  go  the  other  way 
then,"  and  he  held  out  his  hand  for  the  diamond. 

Staines  gave  it  him,  and  was  in  desimir  at  seeing  such 
a  prize  so  near,  yet  leaving  him. 

He  made  one  more  effort.  "Well,  but,"  said  he,  "how 
far  are  you  going  this  way  ?  " 

"  Ten  days." 

"  Why,  so  am  I.  Come  with  me  to  Dale^s  Kloof,  and 
I  will  give  the  other  hundred.  See,  I  am  in  earnest,  for 
here  is  one  hundred,  at  all  events." 

Staines  made  this  proposal,  trembling  with  excitement. 
To  his  surprise  and  joy,  the  Hottentot  assented,  though 
with  an  air  of  indifference ;  and  on  these  terms  they  be- 
came fellow-travellers,  and  Staines  gave  him  a  cigar. 
They  w^ent  on  side  by  side,  and  halted  for  the  night  forty 
miles  from  Bulteel's  farm. 

They  slept  in  a  Boer's  out-house,  and  the  vrow  was 
civil,  and  lent  Staines  a  jackal's  skin.  In  the  morning 
he  bought  it  for  a  diamond,  a  carbuncle,  and  a  score  of 
garnets ;  for  a  horrible  thought  had  occurred  to  him,  if 
they  stopped  at  any  place  where  miners  were,  somebody 
might  buy  the  great  diamond  over  his  head.  This  fear, 
and  others,  grew  on  him,  and  with  all  his  philosophy  he 
went  on  thorns,  and  was  the  slave  of  the  diamond. 

He  resolved  to  keep  his  Hottentot  all  to  himself  if 
possible.  He  shot  a  springbok  that  crossed  the  road, 
and  they  roasted  a  portion  of  the  animal,  and  the  Hotten- 
tot carried  some  on  with  him. 

Seeing  he  admired  the  rifle,  Staines  offered  it  him  for 


356  A   SIMPLETON. 

the  odd  hundred  pounds ;  but  though  Squat's  eye  glittered 
a  moment,  he  declined. 

Finding  that  they  met  too  many  diggers  and  carts, 
Staines  asked  his  Hottentot  was  there  no  nearer  way  to 
reach  that  star,  pointing  to  one  he  knew  was  just  over 
Dale's  Kloof. 

Oh,  yes,  he  knew  a  nearer  way,  where  there  were  trees, 
and  shade,  and  grass,  and  many  beasts  to  shoot. 

"  Let  us  take  that  way,"  said  Staines. 

The  Hottentot,  ductile  as  wax,  except  about  the  price 
of  the  diamond,  assented  calmly;  and  next  day  they 
diverged,  and  got  into  forest  scenery,  and  their  eyes  were 
soothed  with  green  glades  here  and  there,  wherever  the 
clumps  of  trees  sheltered  the  grass  from  the  panting  sun. 
Animals  abounded,  and  were  tame.  Staines,  an  excellent 
marksman,  shot  the  Hottentot  his  supper  without  any 
trouble. 

Sleeping  in  the  wood,  with  not  a  creature  near  but 
Squat,  a  sombre  thought  struck  Staines.  Suppose  this 
Hottentot  should  assassinate  him  for  his  money,  who 
would  ever  know?  The  thought  was  horrible,  and  he 
awoke  with  a  start  ten  times  that  night.  The  Hottentot 
slept  like  a  stone,  and  never  feared  for  his  own  life  and 
precious  booty.  Staines  was  compelled  to  own  to  himself 
he  had  less  faith  in  human  goodness  than  the  savage  had. 
He  said  to  himself,  ^'  He  is  my  superior.  He  is  the  master 
of  this  dreadful  diamond,  and  I  am  its  slave." 

Next  day  they  went  on  till  noon,  and  then  they  halted 
at  a  really  delightful  spot;  a  silver  kloof  ran  along  a 
bottom,  and  there  was  a  little  clump  of  three  acacia-trees 
that  lowered  their  long  tresses,  pining  for  the  stream, 
and  sometimes  getting  a  cool  grateful  kiss  from  it  when 
the  water  was  high. 

They  halted  the  horse,  bathed  in  the  stream,  and  lay 
luxurious  under  the  acacias.  All  was  delicious  languor 
and  enjoyment  of  life. 


A   SEVIPLETON.  357 

The  Hottentot  made  a  fire,  and  burnt  the  remains  of  a 
little  sort  of  kangaroo  Staines  had  shot  him  the  evening 
before ;  but  it  did  not  suffice  his  maw,  and  looking  about 
him,  he  saw  three  elands  leisurely  feeding  about  three 
hundred  yards  off.  They  were  cropping  the  rich  herbage 
close  to  the  shelter  of  a  wood. 

The  Hottentot  suggested  that  this  was  an  excellent 
opportunity.  He  would  borrow  Staines's  rifle,  steal  into 
the  wood,  crawl  on  his  belly  close  up  to  them,  and  send 
a  bullet  through  one. 

Staines  did  not  relish  the  proposal.  He  had  seen  the 
savage's  eye  repeatedly  gloat  on  the  rifle,  and  was  not 
without  hopes  he  might  even  yet  relent,  and  give  the 
great  diamond  for  the  hundred  pounds  and  this  rifle ; 
and  he  was  so  demoralized  by  the  diamond,  and  filled 
with  suspicion,  that  he  feared  the  savage,  if  he  once  had 
the  rifle  in  his  possession,  might  levant,  and  be  seen  no 
more,  in  which  case  he,  Staines,  still  the  slave  of  the 
diamond,  might  hang  himself  on  the  nearest  tree,  and  so 
secure  his  Kosa  the  insurance  money,  at  all  events.  In 
short,  he  had  really  diamond  on  the  brain. 

He  hem'd  and  haw'd  a  little  at  Squat's  proposal,  and 
then  got  out  of  it  by  saying,  "  That  is  not  necessary.  I 
can  shoot  it  from  here." 

"It  is  too  far,"  objected  Blacky. 

"  Too  far !  This  is  an  Enfield  rifle.  I  could  kill  the 
poor  beast  at  three  times  that  distance." 

Blacky  was  amazed.  "  An  Enfield  rifle,"  said  he,  in 
the  soft  musical  murmur  of  his  tribe,  which  is  the  one 
charm  of  the  poor  Hottentot;  "and  shoot  three  times 
so  far." 

"Yes,"  said  Christopher.  Then,  seeing  his  compan- 
ion's hesitation,  he  conceived  a  hope.  "If  I  kill  that 
eland  from  here,  will  you  give  me  the  diamond  for  my 
liorse  and  the  wonderful  rifle  ?  —  no  Hottentot  has  such 
a  rifle." 


358  A   SIMPLETON. 

Squat  became  cold  directly.  "  The  price  of  the  dia- 
inoiul  is  two  hundred  pounds." 

Staines  groaned  with  disappointment,  and  thought  to 
himself  with  rage,  '^Anybody  but  me  would  club  the 
rifle,  give  the  obstinate  black  brute  a  stunner,  and  take 
the  diamond  —  God  forgive  me  !  " 

Says  the  Hottentot  cunningly,  "I  can't  think  so  far 
as  white  man.  Let  me  see  the  eland  dead,  and  then  I 
shall  know  how  far  the  rifle  shoot." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Staines.  But  he  felt  sure  the 
savage  only  wanted  his  meal,  and  would  never  part  Avith 
the  diamond,  except  for  the  odd  money. 

However,  he  loaded  his  left  barrel  with  one  of  the 
explosive  projectiles  Falcon  had  given  him;  it  was  a 
little  fulminating  shell  with  a  steel  point.  It  was  with 
this  barrel  he  had  shot  the  murcat  overnight,  and  he  had 
found  he  shot  better  with  this  barrel  than  the  other. 
He  loaded  his  left  barrel  then,  saw  the  powder  well  up, 
capped  it  and  cut  away  a  strip  of  the  acacia  with  his 
knife  to  see  clear,  and  lying  down  in  volunteer  fashion, 
elbow  on  ground,  drew  his  bead  steadily  on  an  eland 
who  presented  him  her  broadside,  her  back  being  turned 
to  the  wood.  The  sun  shone  on  her  soft  coat,  and  never 
was  a  fairer  mark,  the  sportsman's  deadly  eye  being  in 
the  cool  shade,  the  animal  in  the  sun. 

He  aimed  long  and  steadily.  But  just  as  he  was  about 
to  pull  the  trigger.  Mind  interposed,  and  he  lowered  the 
deadly  weapon.  "  Poor  creature  ! "  he  said,  "  I  am  going 
to  take  her  life  —  for  what  ?  for  a  single  meal.  She  is 
as  big  as  a  pony ;  and  I  am  to  lay  her  carcass  on  the 
plain,  tliat  we  may  eat  two  pounds  of  it.  This  is  how 
the  weasel  kills  the  rabbit ;  sucks  an  ounce  of  blood  for 
his  food,  and  wastes  the  rest.  So  the  demoralized  sheep- 
dog tears  out  the  poor  creature's  kidneys,  and  wastes  the 
rest.     Man,  armed  by  science  with  such  powers  of  slay- 


A   SIMPLETON.  350 

ing,  should  be  less  egotistical  than  weasels  and  perverted 
sheep-dogs.  I  will  not  kill  her.  I  will  not  lay  that 
beautiful  body  of  hers  low,  and  glaze  those  tender,  loving 
eyes  that  never  gleamed  with  hate  or  rage  at  man,  and 
fix  those  innocent  jaws  that  never  bit  the  life  out  of 
anything,  not  even  of  the  grass  she  feeds  on,  and  does  it 
more  good  than  harm.  Feed  on,  poor  innocent.  And 
you  be  blanked ;  you  and  your  diamond,  that  I  begin  to 
wish  I  had  never  seen ;  for  it  would  corrupt  an  angel." 

Squat  understood  one  word  in  ten,  but  he  managed  to 
rejAy.  "  This  is  nonsense-talk,"  said  he,  gravely.  "  The 
life  is  no  bigger  in  that  than  in  the  murcat  you  shot  last 
shoot." 

"No  more  it  is,"  said  Staines.  "I  am  a  fool.  It  is 
come  to  this,  then;  Kafirs  teach  us  theology,  and  Hotten- 
tots morality.  I  bow  to  my  intellectual  superior.  I'll 
shoot  the  eland."     He  raised  his  rifle  again. 

"  No,  no,  no,  no,  no,  no,"  murmured  the  Hottentot,  in 
a  sweet  voice  scarcely  audible,  yet  so  keen  in  its  entreaty, 
that  Staines  turned  hastily  round  to  look  at  him.  His 
face  was  ashy,  his  teeth  chattering,  his  limbs  shaking. 
Before  Staines  could  ask  him  what  was  the  matter,  he 
pointed  through  an  aperture  of  the  acacias  into  the 
wood  hard  by  the  elands.  Staines  looked,  and  saw  what 
seemed  to  him  like  a  very  long  dog,  or  some  such  animal, 
crawling  from  tree  to  tree.  He  did  not  at  all  share  the 
terror  of  his  companion,  nor  understand  it.  But  a  terri- 
ble explanation  followed.  This  creatui^e,  having  got  to 
the  skirt  of  the  wood,  expanded,  by  some  strange  magic, 
to  an  incredible  size,  and  sprang  into  the  open,  with  a 
growl,  a  mighty  lion;  he  seemed  to  ricochet  from  the 
ground,  so  immense  was  his  second  bound,  that  carried 
him  to  the  eland,  and  he  struck  her  one  blow  on  the 
head  with  his  terrible  paw,  and  felled  her  as  if  with  a 
thunderbolt :   down  went  her  body,   Avith  all  the   legs 


360  A    SIMPLETON. 

doubled,  and  her  poor  head  turned  over,  and  the  nose 
kissed  the  ground.  The  lion  stood  motionless.  Pres- 
ently the  eland,  who  was  not  dead,  but  stunned,  began 
to  recover  and  struggle  feebly  up.  Then  the  lion  sprang 
on  her  with  a  roar,  and  rolled  her  over,  and  with  two 
tremendous  bites  and  a  shake,  tore  her  entrails  out  and 
laid  her  dying.  He  sat  composedly  down,  and  contem- 
plated her  last  convulsions,  without  touching  her  again. 

At  this  roar,  though  not  loud,  the  horse,  though  he 
had  never  heard  or  seen  a  lion,  trembled,  and  pulled  at 
his  halter. 

Blacky  crept  into  the  water ;  and  Staines  was  struck 
with  such  an  awe  as  he  had  never  felt.  Nevertheless, 
the  king  of  beasts  being  at  a  distance,  and  occupied,  and 
Staines  a  brave  man,  and  out  of  sight,  he  kept  his  ground 
and  watched,  and  by  those  means  saw  a  sight  never  to 
be  forgotten.  The  lion  rose  up,  and  stood  in  the  sun 
incredibly  beautiful  as  well  as  terrible.  He  was  not  the 
mangy  hue  of  the  caged  lion,  but  a  skin  tawny,  golden, 
glossy  as  a  race-horse,  and  of  exquisite  tint  that  shone 
like  pure  gold  in  the  sun ;  his  eye  a  lustrous  jewel  of 
richest  hue,  and  his  mane  sublime.  He  looked  towards 
the  wood,  and  uttered  a  full  roar.  This  was  so  tremen- 
dous that  the  horse  shook  all  over  as  if  in  an  ague,  and 
began  to  lather.  Staines  recoiled,  and  his  flesh  crept, 
and  the  Hottentot  went  under  water,  and  did  not  emerge 
for  ever  so  long. 

After  a  pause,  the  lion  roared  again,  and  call  the  beasts 
and  birds  of  prey  seemed  to  know  the  meaning  of  that 
terrible  roar.  Till  then  the  place  had  been  a  solitude, 
but  now  it  began  to  fill  in  the  strangest  way,  as  if  the 
lord  of  the  forest  could  call  all  his  subjects  together 
with  a  trumpet  roar :  first  came  two  lion  cubs,  to  whom, 
in  fact,  the  roar  had  been  addressed.  The  lion  rubl)ed 
himself  several  times  against  the  eland,  but  did  not  eat 


A   SIMPLETON.  3G1 

a  morsel,  and  tlie  cubs  went  in  and  feasted  on  the  prey. 
The  lion  politely  and  paternally  drew  back,  and  watched 
the  young  people  enjoying  themselves. 

Meantime  approached,  on  tiptoe,  jackals  and  hyenas, 
but  dared  not  come  too  near.  Slate-colored  vultures 
settled  at  a  little  distance,  but  not  a  soul  dared  interfere 
with  the  cubs ;  they  saw  the  lion  was  acting  sentinel, 
and  they  knew  better  than  come  near. 

After  a  time,  papa  feared  for  the  digestion  of  those 
brats,  or  else  his  own  mouth  watered ;  for  he  came  up, 
Idiocked  them  head  over  heels  with  his  velvet  paw,  and 
they  took  the  gentle  hint,  and  ran  into  the  wood  double 
quick. 

Then  the  lion  began  tearing  away  at  the  eland,  and 
bolting  huge  morsels  greedily.  This  made  the  rabble's 
mouth  water.  The  hyenas,  and  jackals,  and  vultures 
formed  a  circle  ludicrous  to  behold,  and  that  circle  kept 
narrowing  as  the  lion  tore  away  at  his  i)rey.  They 
increased  in  number,  and  at  last  hunger  overcame  pru- 
dence ;  the  rear  rank  shoved  on  the  front,  as  amongst 
men,  and  a  general  attack  seemed  imminent. 

Then  the  lion  looked  up  at  these  invaders,  uttered  a 
reproachful  growl,  and  went  at  them,  patting  them  right 
and  left,  and  knocking  them  over.  He  never  touched  a 
vulture,  nor  indeed  did  he  kill  an  animal.  He  was 
a  lion,  and  only  killed  to  eat ;  yet  he  soon  cleared  the 
place,  because  he  knocked  over  a  few  hyenas  and  jackals, 
and  the  rest,  being  active,  tumbled  over  the  vultures  before 
they  could  spread  their  heavy  wings.  After  this  warning, 
they  made  a  respectful  circle  again,  through  which,  in 
due  course,  the  gorged  lion  stalked  into  the  wood. 

A  savage's  sentiments  change  quickly,  and  the  Hotten- 
tot, fearing  little  from  a  full  lion,  was  now  giggling  at 
Staines's  side.  Staines  asked  him  which  he  thought  was 
the  lord  of  all  creatures,  a  man  or  a  lion. 


362  A   SIMPLETON. 

"A  lion/'  said  Blacky,  amazed  at  such  a  sliallow 
question. 

Staines  now  got  up,  and  proposed  to  continue  tlieir 
journey.  But  Blacky  was  for  waiting  till  the  lion  was 
gone  to  sleep  after  his  meal. 

While  they  discussed  the  question,  the  lion  burst  out 
of  the  wood  within  hearing  of  their  voices,  as  his 
pricked-up  ears  showed,  and  made  straight  for  them  at 
a  distance  of  scarcely  thirty  yards. 

Now,  the  chances  are,  the  lion  knew  nothing  about 
them,  and  only  came  to  drink  at  the  kloof,  after  his 
meal,  and  perhaps  lie  under  the  acacias  :  but  who  can 
think  calmly,  when  his  first  lion  bursts  out  on  him  a 
few  paces  off  ?  Staines  shouldered  his  rifle,  took  a  hasty, 
flurried  aim,  and  sent  a  bullet  at  him. 

If  he  had  missed  him,  perhaps  the  report  might  have 
turned  the  lion ;  but  he  wounded  him,  and  not  mortally. 
Instantly  the  enraged  beast  uttered  a  terrific  roar,  and 
came  at  him  with  his  mane  distended  with  rage,  his  eyes 
glaring,  his  mouth  open,  and  his  whole  body  dilated  with 
fury. 

At  that  terrible  moment,  Staines  recovered  his  wits 
enousch  to  see  that  what  little  chance  he  had  was  to  fire 
into  the  destroyer,  not  at  him.  He  kneeled,  and  levelled 
at  the  centre  of  the  lion's  chest,  and  not  till  he  Avas 
within  five  yards  did  he  fire.  Through  the  smoke  he 
saw  the  lion  in  the  air  above  him,  and  rolled  shrieking 
into  the  stream  and  crawled  like  a  worm  under  the  bank, 
by  one  motion,  and  there  lay  trembling.  A  few  seconds 
of  sick  stupor  passed  :  all  was  silent.  Had  the  lion  lost 
him  ?     Was  it  possible  he  might  yet  escape  ? 

All  was  silent. 

He  listened,  in  agony,  for  the  sniffing  of  the  lion,  puz- 
zling him  out  by  scent. 

No  :  all  was  silent. 


^ 


.  ) 


■t-<'3-jv;'.tV 


3^^^' ' '*':^;#*>.-  -^^feg,: 


A  SIMrLETON.  3G3 

Staines  looked  round,  and  saw  a  woolly  head,  and  two 
saucer  eyes  and  open  nostrils  close  by  him.  It  was  the 
Hottentot,  more  dead  than  alive. 

Staines  whispered  him,  "  I  think  he  is  gone." 
The  Hottentot  whispered,  '•  Gone  a  little  way  to  watch. 
He  is  wise  as  well  as  strong."     With  this  he  disappeared 
beneath  the  water. 

Still  no  sound  but  the  screaming  of  the  vultures,  and 
snarling  of  the  hyenas  and  jackals  over  the  eland. 
"  Take  a  look,"  said  Staines. 

"  Yes,"  said  Squat ;  "  but  not  to-day.  Wait  here  a  day 
or  two.     Den  he  forget  and  forgive." 

Now  Staines,  having  seen  the  lion  lie  down  and  watch 
the  dying  eland,  was  a  great  deal  impressed  by  this  ; 
and  as  he  had  now  good  hopes  of  saving  his  life,  he 
would  not  throw  away  a  chance.  He  kept  his  head  just 
above  water,  and  never  moved. 

In  this  freezing  situation  they  remained. 
Presently  there  was  a  rustling  that  made  both  crouch. 
It  was  followed  by  a  croaking  noise. 
Christopher  made  himself  small. 

The  Hottentot,  on  the  contrary,  raised  his  head,  and 
ventured  a  little  way  into  the  stream. 

By  these  means  he  saw  it  was  something  very  foul, 
but  not  terrible.  It  was  a  large  vulture  that  had  settled 
on  the  very  top  of  the  nearest  acacia. 

At  this  the  Hottentot  got  bolder  still,  and  to  the  great 
surprise  of  Staines  began  to  crawl  cautiously  into  some 
rushes,  and  through  them  up  the  bank. 

Tlie  next  moment  he  burst  into  a  mixture  of  yelling 
and  chirping  and  singing,  and  other  sounds  so  manifestly 
jubilant,  that  the  vulture  flapped  heavily  away,  and 
Staines  emerged  in  turn,  but  very  cautiously. 

Could  he  believe  his  eyes  ?  There  lay  the  lion,  dead 
as  a  stone,  on  his  back,  with  his  four  legs  in  the  air,  like 


364  A  SIMPLETON. 

wooden  legs,  tliey  were  so  very  dead ;  and  the  valiant 
Squat,  dancing  about  him,  and  on  him,  and  over  him. 

Staines,  unable  to  change  his  sentiments  so  quickly, 
eyed  even  the  dead  body  of  the  royal  beast  with  awe  and 
wonder.  What !  had  he  already  laid  that  terrible  mon- 
arch low,  and  with  a  tube  made  in  a  London  shop  by  men 
who  never  saw  a  lion  spring,  nor  heard  his  awful  roar 
shake  the  air  ?  He  stood  with  his  heart  still  beating, 
and  said  not  a  word.  The  shallow  Hottentot  whipped 
out  a  large  knife,  and  began  to  skin  the  king  of  beasts. 
Staines  wondered  he  could  so  profane  that  masterpiece 
of  nature.  He  felt  more  inclined  to  thank  God  for  so 
great  a  preservation,  and  then  pass  reverently  on,  and 
leave  the  dead  king  undesecrated. 

He  was  roused  from  his  solemn  thoughts  by  the  reflec- 
tion that  there  might  be  a  lioness  about,  since  there  were 
cubs :  he  took  a  piece  of  paper,  emptied  his  remaining 
powder  into  it,  and  proceeded  to  dry  it  in  the  sun.  This 
was  soon  done,  and  then  he  loaded  both  barrels. 

By  this  time  the  adroit  Hottentot  had  fla3^ed  the  car- 
cass sufficiently  to  reveal  the  mortal  injury.  The  pro- 
jectile had  entered  the  chest,  and  slanting  upwards,  had 
burst  among  the  vitals,  reducing  them  to  a  gory  pulp. 
The  lion  must  have  died  in  the  air,  when  he  bounded  on 
receiving  the  fatal  shot. 

The  Hottentot  uttered  a  cry  of  admiration.  "  Not  the 
lion  king  of  all,  nor  even  the  white  man,'^  he  said ;  "  but 
Enfeel  rifle  ! " 

Staines's  eyes  glittered.  "  You  shall  have  it,  and  the 
horse,  for  your  diamond,"  said  he  eagerly. 

The  black  seemed  a  little  shaken ;  but  did  not  reply. 
H@  got  out  of  it  by  going  on  with  his  lion ;  and  Staines 
eyed  him,  and  was  bitterly  disappointed  at  not  getting 
the  diamond  even  on  these  terms.  He  began  to  feel  he 
should  never  get  it :  they  were  near  the  high-road ;  he 


A  SIMPLETON.  3G5 

could  not  keep  the  Hottentot  to  himself  much  longer. 
He  felt  sick  at  heart.  He  had  wild  and  wicked  thoughts ; 
half  hoped  the  lioness  would  come  and  kill  the  Hotten- 
tot, and  liberate  the  jewel  that  possessed  his  soul. 

At  last  the  skin  was  off,  and  the  Hottentot  said,  "  Me 
take  this  to  my  kraal,  and  dey  all  say,  '  Squat  a  great 
shooter  ;  kill  uni  lion.' " 

Then  Staines  saw  another  chance  for  him,  and  sum- 
moned all  his  address  for  a  last  effort.  "  No,  Squat," 
said  he,  "  that  skin  belongs  to  me.  I  shot  the  lion,  with 
the  only  rifle  that  can  kill  a  lion  like  a  cat.  Yet  you 
would  not  give  me  a  diamond  —  a  paltry  stone  for  it. 
No,  Squat,  if  you  were  to  go  into  your  village  with  that 
lion's  skin,  why  the  old  men  would  bend  their  heads  to 
you,  and  say,  ^  Great  is  Squat !  He  killed  the  lion,  and 
wears  his  skin.'  The  young  women  w^ould  all  fight  which 
should  be  the  wife  of  Squat.  Squat  would  be  king  of 
the  village." 

Squat's  eyes  began  to  roll. 

"  And  shall  I  give  the  skin,  and  the  glory  that  is  my 
due,  to  an  ill-natured  fellow,  who  refuses  me  his  paltry 
diamond  for  a  good  horse  —  look  at  him  —  and  for  the 
rifle  that  kills  lions  like  rabbits  —  behold  it ;  and  a  hun- 
dred pounds  in  good  gold  and  Dutch  notes  —  see  ;  and 
for  the  lion's  skin,  and  glory,  and  honor,  and  a  rich  wife, 
and  to  be  king  of  Africa  ?     Never  ! " 

The  Hottentot's  hands  and  toes  began  to  work  convul- 
sively. "  Good  master.  Squat  ask  pardon.  Squat  was 
blind.  Squat  wdll  give  the  diamond,  the  great  diamond 
of  Africa,  for  the  lion's  skin,  and  the  king  rifle,  and  the 
little  horse,  and  the  gold,  and  Dutch  notes  every  one  of 
them.     Dat  make  just  two  hundred  pounds." 

"More  like  four  hundred,"  cried  Staines  very  loud. 
"And  how  do  I  know  it  is  a  diamond?  These  large 
stones  are  the  most  deceitful.  Show  it  me,  this  instant/' 
said  he  imperiously. 


366  A   SIMPLETON. 

"Iss,  master/'  said  the  crushed  Hottentot,  with  the 
voice  of  a  mouse,  and  lout  the  stone  into  his  hand  with 
a  chikl-like  faith  that  almost  melted  Staines ;  but  he 
saw  he  must  be  firm.  "  Where  did  you  find  it  ? "  he 
bawled, 

"Master,"  said  poor  Squat,  in  deprecating  tones,  "my 
little  master  at  the  farm  Avanted  plaster.  He  send  to 
Bulteel's  pan;  dere  was  large  lumps.  Squat  say  to 
miners,  *  May  we  take  de  large  lumps  ?  Dey  say,  '•  Yes ; 
take  de  cursed  lumps  we  no  can  break.'  We  took  de 
cursed  lumps.  We  ride  'em  in  de  cart  to  farm  twenty 
milses.  I  beat  'em  with  my  hammer.  Dey  is  very  hard. 
More  dey  break  my  heart  dan  I  break  their  cursed  heads. 
One  day  I  use  strong  words,  like  white  man,  and  I  hit 
one  large  lump  too  hard ;  he  break,  and  out  come  de 
white  clear  stone.  Iss,  him  diamond.  Long  time  we 
know  him  in  our  kraal,  because  he  hard.  Long  time 
before  ever  white  man  knoAV  him,  tousand  years  ago,  we 
find  him,  and  he  make  us  lilly  hole  in  big  stone  for  make 
wheat  dust.     Him  a  diamond,  blank  my  eyes  !  " 

This  was  intended  as  a  solemn  form  of  asseveration 
adapted  to  the  white  man's  habits. 

Yes,  reader,  he  told  the  truth ;  and  strange  to  say,  the 
miners  knew  the  largest  stones  were  in  these  great  lumps 
of  carbonate,  but  then  the  lumps  were  so  cruelly  hard, 
they  lost  all  patience  with  them,  and  so,  finding  it  was 
no  use  to  break  some  of  them,  and  not  all,  they  rejected 
them  all,  with  curses;  and  thus  this  great  stone  was 
carted  away  as  rubbish  from  the  mine,  and  found,  like  a 
toad  in  a  hole,  by  Squat. 

"  Well,"  said  Christopher,  "  after  all,  you  are  an  hon- 
est fellow,  and  I  think  I  will  buy  it ;  but  first  you  must 
show  me  out  of  this  wood ;  I  am  not  going  to  be  eaten 
alive  in  it  for  want  of  the  king  of  rifles." 

Squat   assented  eagerly,    and  they   started    at   once. 


A     SIMPLETON.  3G7 

They  passed  the  skeleton  of  the  eland;  its  very  bones 
were  i^olished,  and  its  head  carried  into  the  wood ;  and 
looking  back  they  saw  vultures  busy  on  the  lion.  They 
soon  cleared  the  wood. 

Squat  handed  Staines  the  diamond  —  when  it  touched 
liis  hand,  as  his  own,  a  bolt  of  ice  seemed  to  run  down 
his  back,  and  hot  water  to  follow  it  —  and  the  money, 
horse,  rifle,  and  skin  were  made  over  to  Squat. 

"  Shake  hands  over  it.  Squat,"  said  Staines;  "you  are 
hard,  but  you  are  honest." 

"  Iss,  master,  I  a  good  much  hard  and  honest,"  said 

Squat. 

"  Good-by,  old  fellow." 

"  Good-by,  master." 

And  Squat  strutted  away,  with  the  halter  in  his  hand, 
horse  following  him,  rifle  under  his  arm,  and  the  lion's 
skin  over  his  shoulders,  and  the  tail  trailing,  a  figure  sub- 
lime in  his  own  eyes,  ridiculous  in  creation's.  So  vanity 
triumphed,  even  in  the  wilds  of  Africa. 

Staines  hurried  forward  on  foot,  loading  his  revolver 
as  he  went,  for  the  very  vicinity  of  the  wood  alarmed 
him  now^  that  he  had  parted  with  his  trusty  rifle. 

That  night  he  lay  down  on  the  open  veldt,  in  his 
jackal's  skin,  with  no  weapon  but  his  revolver,  and  woke 
with  a  start  a  dozen  times.  Just  before  daybreak  he 
scanned  the  stars  carefully,  and  noting  exactly  where 
the  sun  rose,  made  a  rough  guess  at  his  course,  and  fol- 
lowed it  till  the  sun  was  too  hot ;  then  he  crept  under  a 
ragged  bush,  hung  up  his  jackal's  skin,  and  sweated 
there,  parched  with  thirst,  and  gnawed  with  hunger. 
When  it  was  cooler,  he  crept  on,  and  found  water,  but  no 
food.  He  was  in  torture,  and  began  to  be  frightened, 
for  he  was  in  a  desert.  He  found  an  ostrich  egg  and 
ate  it  ravenously. 

Next   day,  hunger  took  a   new  form,  faintness.     He 


368  A   SIMPLETON. 

could  not  walk  for  it ;  his  jackal's  skin  oppressed  liim ; 
he  lay  down  exhausted.  A  horror  seized  his  dejected 
soul.  The  diamond  !  It  would  be  his  death.  No  man 
must  so  long  for  any  earthly  thing  as  he  had  for  this 
glittering  traitor.  "  Oh  !  my  good  horse  !  my  trusty 
rifle  ! "  he  cried.  "  For  what  have  I  thrown  you  aw^ay  ? 
For  starvation.  Misers  have  been  found  stretched  over 
their  gold;  and  some  day  my  skeleton  will  be  found, 
and  nothing  to  tell  the  base  death  I  died  of  and  de- 
served ;  nothing  but  the  cursed  diamond.  Ay,  fiend, 
glare  in  my  eyes,  do  ! "  He  felt  delirium  creeping  over 
him ;  and  at  that  a  new  terror  froze  him.  His  reason, 
that  he  had  lost  once,  was  he  to  lose  it  again  ?  He 
prayed;  he  wept;  he  dozed,  and  forgot  all.  When  he 
woke  again,  a  cool  air  was  fanning  his  cheeks  ;  it  revived 
him  a  little ;  it  became  almost  a  breeze. 

And  this  breeze,  as  it  happened,  carried  on  its  wings 
the  curse  of  Africa.  There  loomed  in  the  north-west  a 
cloud  of  singular  density,  that  seemed  to  expand  in  size 
as  it  drew  nearer,  yet  to  be  still  more  solid,  and  darken 
the  air.  It  seemed  a  dust-storm.  Staines  took  out  his 
handkerchief,  prepared  to  wrap  his  face  in  it,  not  to  be 
stifled. 

But  soon  there  was  a  whirring  and  a  whizzing,  and 
hundreds  of  locusts  flew  over  his  head ;  they  were  fol- 
lowed by  thousands,  the  swiftest  of  the  mighty  host. 
They  thickened  and  thickened,  till  the  air  looked  solid, 
and  even  that  glaring  sun  was  blackened  by  the  rushing 
mass.  Birds  of  all  sorts  whirled  above,  and  swooped 
among  them.  They  peppered  Staines  all  over  like  shot. 
They  stuck  in  his  beard,  and  all  over  him ;  they  clogged 
the  bushes,  carpeted  the  ground,  while  the  darkened  air 
sang  as  with  the  whirl  of  machinery.  Every  bird  in  the 
air,  and  beast  of  the  field,  granivorous  or  carnivorous, 
was  gorged  with  them ;  and  to  these  animals  was  added 


A  SIMPLETON.  3G9 

man,  for  Staines,  being  famished,  and  remembering  tlic 
vrow  Bulteel,  lighted  a  fire,  and  roasted  a  handful  or 
two  on  a  flat  stone ;  they  were  delicious.  The  fire  once 
lighted,  they  cooked  themselves,  for  they  kept  flying 
into  it.  Three  hours,  without  interruption,  did  they 
darken  nature,  and,  before  the  column  ceased,  all  the 
beasts  of  the  field  came  after,  gorging  them  so  recklessly, 
that  Staines  could  have  shot  an  antelope  dead  with  his 
pistol  within  a  yard  of  him. 

But  to  tell  the  horrible  truth,  the  cooked  locusts  were 
so  nice  that  he  preferred  to  gorge  on  them  along  with 
the  other  animals. 

He  roasted  another  lot,  for  future  use,  and  marched  on 
with  a  good  heart. 

But  now  he  got  on  some  rough,  scrubby  ground,  and 
damaged  his  shoes,  and  tore  his  trousers. 

This  lasted  a  terrible  distance ;  but  at  the  end  of  it 
came  the  usual  arid  ground ;  and  at  last  he  came  upon 
the  track  of  wheels  and  hoofs.  He  struck  it  at  an  acute 
angle,  and  that  showed  him  he  had  made  a  good  line. 
He  limped  along  it  a  little  way,  slowly,  being  footsore. 

By  and  by,  looking  back,  he  saw  a  lot  of  rough  fellows 
swaggering  along  behind  him.  Then  he  w^as  alarmed, 
terribly  alarmed,  for  his  diamond ;  he  tore  a  strip  of  his 
handkerchief,  and  tied  the  stone  cunningly  under  his 
armpit  as  he  hobbled  on. 

The  men  came  up  with  him. 

"  Hallo,  mate  !     Come  from  the  diggings  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  What  luck  ?  " 

"  Very  good." 

"  Haw  !  haw  !  What !  found  a  fifty-carat  ?  Show  it 
us." 

"  We  found  five  big  stones,  my  mate  and  me.  He  is 
gone  to  Cape  Town  to  sell  them.  I  had  no  luck  when 
24 


370  A  SIMPLETON. 

lie  had  left  me,  so  I  have  cut  it ;  going  to  turn  farmer. 
Can  you  tell  me  liow  far  it  is  to  Dale's  Kloof  ?  " 

No,  they  could  not  tell  him  that.  They  swung  on; 
and,  to  Staines,  their  backs  were  a  cordial,  as  we  say  in 
Scotland. 

However,  his  travels  were  near  an  end.  Next  morn- 
ing he  saw  Dale's  Kloof  in  the  distance ;  and  as  soon  as 
the  heat  moderated,  he  pushed  on,  with  one  shoe  and 
tattered  trousers;  and  half  an  hour  before  sunset  he 
hobbled  up  to  the  place. 

It  was  all  bustle.  Travellers  at  the  door  ;  their  wagons 
and  carts  under  a  long  shed. 

Ucatella  was  the  first  to  see  him  coming,  and  came 
and  fawned  on  him  with  delight.  Her  eyes  glistened, 
her  teeth  gleamed.  She  patted  both  his  cheeks,  and 
then  his  shoulders,  and  even  his  knees,  and  then  flew 
in-doors  crying,  "  My  doctor  child  is  come  home  !  "  This 
amused  three  travellers,  and  brought  out  Dick,  with  a 
hearty  welcome. 

"  But  Lordsake,  sir,  why  have  you  come  afoot ;  and  a 
rough  road  too  ?  Look  at  your  shoes.  Hallo !  What 
is  come  of  the  horse  ?  " 

"  I  exchanged  him  for  a  diamond." 

"  The  deuce  you  did  !     And  the  rifle  ?  " 

"  Exchanged  that  for  the  same  diamond." 

"  It  ought  to  be  a  big  'un." 

"  It  is.'^' 

Dick  made  a  wry  face.  "  Well,  sir,  you  know  best. 
You  are  w^elcome,  on  horse  or  afoot.  You  are  just  in 
time  ;  Thoebe  and  me  are  just  sitting  down  to  dinner." 

He  took  him  into  a  little  room  they  had  built  for  their 
own  privacy,  for  they  liked  to  be  quiet  now  and  then, 
being  country  bred ;  and  Phoebe  Avas  putting  their  dinner 
on  the  table,  when  Staines  limped  in. 

She  gave  a  joyful  cry,  and  turned  red  all  over.     "Oh, 


A   SIMPLETON.  371 

doctor  ! "  Then  his  travel-torn  appearance  struck  hw. 
"  But,  dear  heart !  what  a  figure  !  Where's  Ilegiiuild  ? 
Oh,  he's  not  far  off,  /  know." 

And  she  fiung  open  the  window,  and  ahuost  flew 
through  it  in  a  moment,  to  look  for  her  husband. 

"  Reginald  ?  "  said  Staines.  Then  turning  to  Dick 
Dale,  "  Why,  he  is  here  —  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  No,  sir :  not  without  he  is  just  come  with  you." 

"  With  me  ? —  no.  You  know  we  parted  at  the  dig- 
gings. Come,  Mr.  Dale,  he  may  not  be  here  now ;  but 
he  has  been  here.     He  must  have  been  here." 

Phoebe,  who  had  not  lost  a  word,  turned  round,  with 
all  her  high  color  gone,  and  her  cheeks  getting  paler  and 
paler.     "  Oh,  Dick  !  what  is  this  ?  " 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  said  Dick.  "  AYliatever  made 
you  think  he  was  here,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  tell  you  he  left  me  to  come  here." 

"  Left  you,  sir ! "  faltered  Phoebe.  "  Why,  when  ?  — 
where  ?  " 

"  At  the  diggings  —  ever  so  long  ago." 

"  Blank  him  !  that  is  just  like  him ;  the  uneasy  fool !  " 
roared  Dick. 

"  No,  Mr.  Dale,  you  should  not  say  that ;  he  left  me, 
with  my  consent,  to  come  to  ISIrs.  Palcon  here,  and  con- 
sult her  about  disposing  of  our  diamonds." 

''  Diamonds  !  —  diamonds  !  "  cried  Phoebe.  "  Oh,  they 
make  me  tremble.  How  could  you  let  him  go  alone ! 
You  didn't  let  hiin  go  on  foot,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  Mrs.  Falcon  ;  he  had  his  horse,  and  his  rifle, 
and  money  to  spend  on  the  road." 

"  How  long  ago  did  he  leave  you,  sir  ?  " 
"I  —  I  am  sorry  to  say  it  was  five  weeks  ago." 
"  Five   weeks !   and    not    come   yet.     Ah  !    the   wild 
beasts  !  —  the  diggers  !  —  the  murderers  I     He  is  dead  ! " 
"  God  forbid  ! "  faltered  Staines ;   but  his  own  blood 
began  to  run  cold. 


372  A   SIMPLETON. 

"He  is  dead.  He  has  died  between  this  and  the 
dreadful  diamonds.  I  shall  never  see  my  darling  again : 
he  is  dead.     He  is  dead." 

She  rushed  out  of  the  room,  and  out  of  the  house, 
throwing  her  arms  above  her  head  in  despair,  and 
uttering  those  words  of  agony  again  and  again  in  every 
variety  of  anguish. 

At  such  horrible  moments  women  always  swoon  —  if 
we  are  to  believe  the  dramatists.  I  doubt  if  there  is  one 
srrain  of  truth  in  this.  Women  seldom  swoon  at  all, 
unless  their  bodies  are  unhealthy,  or  weakened  by  the 
reaction  that  follows  so  terrible  a  shock  as  this.  At  all 
events,  Phoebe,  at  first,  was  strong  and  wild  as  a  lion, 
and  went  to  and  fro  outside  the  house,  unconscious  of 
her  body's  motion,  frenzied  with  agony,  and  but  one 
word  on  her  lips,  "  He  is  dead  !  —  he  is  dead  !  " 

Dick  followed  her,  crying  like  a  child,  but  master  of 
himself ;  he  got  his  people  about  her,  and  half  carried 
her  in  again ;  then  shut  the  door  in  all  their  faces. 

He  got  the  poor  creature  to  sit  down,  and  she  began 
to  rock  and  moan,  with  her  apron  over  her  head,  and 
her  brown  hair  loose  about  her. 

"  Why  should  he  be  dead  ?  "  said  Dick.  "  Don't  give 
a  man  up  like  that,  Phoebe.  Doctor,  tell  us  more  about 
it.  Oh,  man,  how  could  you  let  him  out  of  your  sight  ? 
You  knew  how  fond  the  poor  creature  was  of  him." 

"  But  that  was  it,  Mr.  Dale,"  said  Staines.  "  I  knew 
his  wife  must  pine  for  him ;  and  we  had  found  six  large 
diamonds,  and  a  handful  of  small  ones  ;  but  the  market 
was  glutted ;  and  to  get  a  better  price,  he  wanted  to  go 
straight  to  Cape  Town.  But  I  said,  '  No ;  go  and  show 
them  to  your  wife,  and  see  whether  she  will  go  to  Cape 
Town.' " 

Phoebe  began  to  listen,  as  was  evident  by  her  moaning 
more  softly. 


A   SIMPLETON.  373 

"  Might  ho  not  liave  gone  straight  to  Cape  Town  ?  " 
Staines  haz;ii'(h'd  this  timidly. 

"  Why  should  he  do  that,  sir  ?     Dale's  Kloof  is  on  the 
road." 

"Only  on  one  road.  Mr.  Dale,  he  was  well  armed, 
with  rifle  and  revolver;  and  I  cautioned  him  not  to 
show  a  diamond  on  the  road.  Who  would  molest  him  ?  * 
Diamonds  don't  show,  like  gold.  Who  was  to  know  he 
had  three  thousand  pounds  hidden  under  his  armpits, 
and  in  two  barrels  of  his  revolver  ?  " 

"  Three  thousand  pounds  !  "  cried  Dale.     "  You  trusted 
him  with  three  thousand  pounds  ?  " 

"  Certainly.     They  were  worth  about  three  thousand 
pounds  in  Cape  Town,  and  half  as  much  again  in  "  — 

Phoebe  started  up  in  a  moment.     "  Thank  God  !  "  she 
cried.     "  There's  hope  for  me.     Oh,  Dick,  he  is  not  dead : 

HE  HAS  OXLY  DESERTED  ME." 

And  with  these  strange  and  pitiable  words,  she  fell  to 
sobbing  as  if  her  great  heart  would  burst  at  last. 


374  A   SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Theke  came  a  reaction,  and  Phoebe  was  prostrated 
with  grief  and  alarm.  Her  brother  never  doubted  now 
that  Reginald  had  run  to  Cape  Town  for  a  lark.  But 
Phoebe,  though  she  thought  so  too,  could  not  be  sure; 
and  so  the  double  agony  of  bereavement  and  desertion 
tortured  her  by  turns,  and  almost  together.  For  the  first 
time  these  many  years,  she  was  so  crushed  she  could 
not  go  about  her  business,  but  lay  on  a  little  sofa  in  her 
own  room,  and  had  the  blinds  down,  for  her  head  ached 
so  she  could  not  bear  the  light. 

She  conceived  a  bitter  resentment  against  Staines; 
and  told  Dick  never  to  let  him  into  her  sight,  if  he  did 
not  want  to  be  her  death. 

In  vain  Dick  made  excuses  for  him :  she  would  hear 
none.  For  once  she  was  as  unreasonable  as  any  other 
living  woman :  she  could  see  nothing  but  that  she  had 
been  happy,  after  years  of  misery,  and  should  be  happy 
now  if  this  man  had  never  entered  her  house.  "Ah, 
Collie  ! "  she  cried,  "  you  were  wiser  than  I  was.  You 
as  good  as  told  me  he  would  make  me  smart  for  lodging 
and  curing  him.     And  I  was  so  happy  !  " 

Dale  communicated  this  as  delicately  as  he  could  to 
Staines.  Christopher  was  deeply  grieved  and  wounded. 
He  thought  it  unjust,  but  he  knew  it  was  natural :  he 
said,  humbly,  "  I  feel  guilty  myself,  Mr.  Dale ;  and  yet, 
unless  I  had  possessed  omniscience,  what  could  I  do  ?  I 
thought  of  her  in  all  —  poor  thing  !  poor  thing  !  " 

The  tears  were  in  his  eyes,  and  Dick  Dale  went 
away  scratching   his  head  and  thinking  it  over.     The 


A   STMrLETON.  375 

more  he  tlioiight,  the  less  he  was  inclined  to  condemn 
him. 

Staines  himself  was  mnch  troubled  in  mind,  and  lived 
on  thorns.  He  wanted  to  be  off  to  England;  grudged 
every  day,  every  hour,  he  spent  in  Africa.  But  Mrs. 
Falcon  was  his  benefactress;  he  had  been,  for  months 
and  months,  garnering  up  a  heap  of  gratitude  towards 
her.  He  had  not  the  heart  to  leave  her  bad  friends,  and 
in  misery.  He  kept  hoping  Falcon  would  return,  or 
write. 

Two  days  after  his  return,  he  was  seated,  disconsolate, 
gluing  garnets  and  carbuncles  on  to  a  broad  tapering  ])it 
of  lambskin,  when  Ucatella  came  to  him  and  said,  "  Uj 
doctor  child  sick  ?  " 

"No,  not  sick:  but  miserable.'^  And  he  explained  to 
her,  as  w^ell  as  he  could,  what  had  passed.  "  But,"  said 
he,  "  I  would  not  mind  the  loss  of  the  diamonds  now,  if 
I  was  only  sure  he  was  alive.  I  think  most  of  poor, 
poor  Mrs.  Falcon." 

While  Ucatella  pondered  this,  but  with  one  eye  of 
demure  curiosity  on  the  coronet  he  was  making,  he  told 
her  it  was  for  her — he  had  not  forgot  her  at  the  mines. 

"These  stones,"  said  he,  "are  not  valued  there;  but 
see  how  glorious  they  are  I " 

In  a  few  minutes  he  had  finished  the  coronet,  and  gave 
it  her.  She  uttered  a  chuckle  of  delight,  and  with 
instinctive  art,  bound  it,  in  a  turn  of  her  hand,  about 
her  brow  ;  and  then  Staines  himself  was  struck  dumb 
with  amazement.  The  carbuncles  gathered  from  those 
mines  look  like  rubies,  so  full  of  fire  are  they,  and  of 
enormous  size.  The  chaplet  had  twelve  great  carbuncles 
in  the  centre,  and  went  off  by  gradations  into  smaller 
garnets  by  the  thousand.  They  flashed  their  blood-red 
flames  in  the  African  sun,  and  the  head  of  Ucatella, 
grand  before,  became  the  head  of  the  Sphinx,  encircled 


376  A   SIMPLETON. 

Avitli  a  coronet  of  fire.  She  bestowed  a  look  of  rapturous 
gratitude  on  Staines,  and  then  glided  away,  like  the  stately 
Juno,  to  admire  herself  in  the  nearest  glass  like  any  other 
coquette,  black,  brown,  yellow,  copper,  or  white. 

That  very  day,  towards  sunset,  she  burst  upon  Staines 
quite  suddenly,  with  her  coronet  gleaming  on  her  magni- 
ficent head,  and  her  eyes  like  coals  of  fire,  and  under 
her  magnificent  arm,  hard  as  a  rock,  a  boy  kicking  and 
struggling  in  vain.  She  was  furiously  excited,  and,  for 
the  first  time,  showed  signs  of  the  savage  in  the  whites 
of  her  eyes,  which  seemed  to  turn  the  glorious  pupils 
into  semicircles.  She  clutched  Staines  by  the  shoulder 
with  her  left  hand,  and  swept  along  with  the  pair,  like 
dark  Fate,  or  as  potent  justice  sweeps  away  a  pair  of 
culprits,  and  carried  them  to  the  little  window,  and  cried 
"  Open  —  open  ! " 

Dick  Dale  was  at  dinner ;  Phoebe  lying  down.  Dick 
got  up,  rather  crossly,  and  threw  open  the  window\ 
"  What  is  up  now  ? ''  said  he  crossly :  he  was  like  two 
or  three  more  Englishmen  —  hated  to  be  bothered  at 
dinner-time. 

"Dar,'^  screamed  Ucatella,  setting  down  Tim,  but 
holding  him  tight  by  the  shoulder ;  "  now  you  tell  what 
you  see  that  night,  you  lilly  Kafir  trash ;  if  you  not  tell, 
I  kill  you  DEAD ;  '^  and  she  showed  the  whites  of  her 
eyes,  like  a  wild  beast. 

Tim,  thoroughly  alarmed,  quivered  out  that  he  had 
seen  lilly  master  ride  up  to  the  gate  one  bright  night, 
and  look  in,  and  Tim  thought  he  was  going  in :  but  he 
changed  his  mind,  and  galloped  away  that  way ;  and  the 
monkey  pointed  south. 

"  And  why  couldn't  you  tell  us  this  before  ?  "  ques- 
tioned Dick. 

"Me  mind  de  sheep,"  said  Tim  apologetically.  "Me 
not  mind  de  lilly  master :  jackals  not  eat  him." 


A   SIMPLETON.  ?u7 

"You  no  more  sense  dan  a  sheep  yourself,"  said 
Ucatella  loftily. 

"  No,  no :  God  bless  you  both,"  cried  poor  Phoebe : 
"  now  I  know  the  worst : "  and  a  great  burst  of  tears 
relieved  her  suffering  heart. 

Dick  went  out  softly.  When  he  got  outside  the  door, 
he  drew  them  all  apart,  and  said,  "  Yuke,  you  are  a  good- 
hearted  girl.  I'll  never  forget  this  while  I  live  ;  and, 
Tim,  there's  a  shilling  for  thee ;  but  don't  you  go  and 
spend  it  in  Cape  smoke ;  that  is  poison  to  whites,  and 
destruction  to  blacks." 

''"Xo,  master,"  said  Tim.  "I  shall  buy  much  bread, 
and  make  my  tomach  tiff ; "  then,  with  a  glance  of 
reproach  <ic  the  domestic  caterer,  Ucatella,  ^'I  almost 
never  have  my  tomach  tiff." 

Dick  left  his  sister  alone  an  hour  or  two,  to  have  her 
cry  out. 

"\Yhen  he  went  back  to  her  there  was  a  change :  the 
brave  woman  no  longer  lay  prostrate.  She  went  about 
her  business ;  only  she  was  always  either  crying  or 
drowning  her  tears. 

He  brought  Dr.  Staines  in.  Phoebe  instantly  turned 
her  back  on  him  with  a  shudder  there  was  no  mistaking. 

"I  had  better  go,'^  said  Staines.  "Mrs.  Falcon  will 
never  forgive  me." 

"She  will  have  to  quarrel  with  me  else,"  said  Dick 
steadily.  "  Sit  you  down,  doctor.  Honest  folk  like  you 
and  me  and  Phoebe  wasn't  made  to  quarrel  for  want 
of  lookino^  a  thinsr  all  round.  Mv  sister  she  hasn't  looked 
it  all  round,  and  I  have.  Come,  Pheeb,  'tis  no  use  your 
blinding  yourself.  How  was  the  poor  doctor  to  know 
your  husba,nd  is  a  blackguard  ?  " 

"  He  is  not  a  blackguard.  How  dare  you  say  that  to 
my  face  ?  " 

"  He  is  a  blackguard^  and  always  was.     And  now  h^ 


378  A   SIMPLETON. 

is  a  thief  to  boot.  He  has  stolen  those  diamonds ;  you 
know  that  very  welL" 

"  Gently,  Mr.  Dale  j  you  forget :  they  are  as  much  his 
as  mine." 

"Well,  and  if  half  a  sheep  is  mine,  and  I  take  the 
whole  and  sell  him,  and  keep  the  money,  what  is  that 
but  stealing  ?  Why,  I  wonder  at  you,  Pheeb.  You  Avas 
always  honest  yourself,  and  yet  you  see  the  doctor  robbed 
by  your  man,  and  that  does  not  trouble  you.  Wliat  has 
he  done  to  deserve  it  ?  He  has  been  a  good  friend  to  us. 
He  has  put  us  on  the  road.  We  did  little  more  than 
keep  the  pot  boiling  before  he  came  —  well,  yes,  we 
stored  grain ;  but  whose  advice  has  turned  that  grain  to 
gold,  I  might  say  ?  Well,  what's  his  offence  ?  He 
trusted  the  diamonds  to  your  man,  and  sent  him  to  you. 
Is  he  the  first  honest  man  that  has  trusted  a  rogue  ? 
How  was  he  to  know  ?  Likely  he  judged  the  husband 
by  the  wife.  Answer  me  one  thing,  Pheeb.  If  he  makes 
away  with  fifteen  hundred  pounds  that  is  his,  or  partly 
yours  —  for  he  has  eaten  your  bread  ever  since  I  knew 
him  —  and  fifteen  hundred  more  that  is  the  doctor's, 
where  shall  we  find  fifteen  hundred  pounds,  all  in  a 
moment,  to  pay  the  doctor  back  his  own  ?  " 

"  My  honest  friend,"  said  Staines,  "  joii  are  torment- 
ing yourself  Avith  shadows.  I  don't  believe  Mr.  Falcon 
will  wrong  me  of  a  shilling;  and,  if  he  does,  I  shall 
quietly  repay  myself  out  of  the  big  diamond.  Yes,  my 
dear  friends,  I  did  not  throw  away  your  horse,  nor  your 
rifle,  nor  your  money:  I  gave  them  all,  and  the  lion's 
skin  —  I  gave  them  all  —  for  this." 

And  he  laid  the  big  diamond  on  the  table. 

It  was  as  big  as  a  walnut,  and  of  the  purest  water. 

Dick  Dale  glanced  at  it  stupidly.  Phoebe  turned  her 
back  on  it,  with  a  cry  of  horror,  and  then  came  slowly 
round  by  degrees  ;  and  her  eyes  were  fascinated  by  the 
royal  gem. 


A   SIMPLETON.  ?u\) 

" Yes,"  said  Staines  sadly,  "I  had  to  strip  myself  of 
all  to  buy  it,  and,  when  I  had  got  it,  how  proud  I  was, 
and  how  happy  I  thought  we  should  all  be  over  it,  for  it 
is  half  yours,  half  mine.  Yes,  Mr.  Dale,  there  lies  six 
thousand  pounds  that  belong  to  Mrs.  Falcon." 

"  Six  thousand  pounds  ! "  cried  Dick. 

"I'm  sure  of  it.  And  so,  if  your  suspicions  are  cor- 
rect, and  poor  Falcon  should  yield  to  a  sudden  tempta- 
tion, and  spend  all  that  money,  I  shall  just  coolly  deduct 
it  from  your  share  of  this  wonderful  stone :  so  make 
your  mind  easy.  But  no  ;  if  Falcon  is  really  so  wicked 
as  to  desert  his  happy  home,  and  so  mad  as  to  spend 
thousands  in  a  month  or  two,  let  us  go  and  save  him." 

"  That  is  my  business,"  said  Phoebe.  "  I  am  going  in 
the  mail-cart  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  you  won't  go  alone,"  said  Dick. 

"  Mrs.  Falcon,"  said  Staines  imploringly,  "  let  me  go 
with  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.     My  brother  can  take  care  of  me." 

"  Me  !     You  had  better  not  take  me.     If  I  catch  hold 

of  him,  by I'll  break  his  neck,  or  his  back,  or  his 

leg,  or  something  ;  he'll  never  run  away  from  you  again, 
if  I  lay  hands  on  him,"  replied  Dick. 

"  I'll  go  alone.     You  are  both  against  me." 

"  No,  Mrs.  Falcon ;  I  am  not,"  said  Staines.  "  My 
heart  bleeds  for  you." 

"  Don't  you  demean  yourself,  praying  her,"  said  Dick. 
"  It's  a  public  conveyance  :  you  have  no  need  to  ask  her 
leave." 

"  That  is  true  :  I  can't  hinder  folk  from  going  to  Cape 
Town  the  same  day,"  said  Phoebe  sullenly. 

"If  I  might  presume  to  advise,  I  would  take  little 
Tommy." 

"  WHiat !  all  that  road  ?  Do  you  want  me  to  lose  my 
child,  as  well  as  my  man  ?  " 


380  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  0  Mrs.  Falcon  !  " 

"  Don't  sj)eak  to  her,  doctor,  to  get  your  nose  snapped 
off.  Give  her  time.  She'll  come  to  her  senses  before 
she  dies." 

Next  day  Mrs.  Falcon  and  Staines  started  for  Cape 
Town.  Staines  paid  her  every  attention,  when  oppor- 
tunity offered.  But  she  was  sullen  and  gloomy,  and 
held  no  converse  with  him. 

He  landed  her  at  an  inn,  and  then  told  her  he  would 
go  at  once  to  the  jeweller's.  He  asked  her  piteously 
would  she  lend  him  a  pound  or  two  to  prosecute  his 
researches.  She  took  out  her  purse,  without  a  word,  and 
lent  him  two  pounds. 

He  began  to  scour  the  town :  the  jewellers  he  visited 
could  tell  him  nothing.  At  last  he  came  to  a  shop,  and 
there  he  found  Mrs.  Falcon  making  her  inquiries  inde- 
pendently. She  said  coldly,  "  You  had  better  come  with 
me,  and  get  your  money  and  things." 

She  took  him  to  the  bank  —  it  happened  to  be  the  one 
she  did  business  with  —  and  said,  "  This  is  Dr.  Christie, 
come  for  his  money  and  jewels." 

There  was  some  demur  at  this ;  but  the  cashier  recog- 
nized him,  and  Phoebe  making  herself  responsible,  the 
money  and  jewels  were  handed  over. 

Staines  whispered  Phoebe,  "Are  you  sure  the  jewels 
are  mine  ?  " 

"  They  were  found  on  you,  sir." 

Staines  took  them,  looking  confused.  He  did  not 
know  what  to  think.  When  they  got  into  the  street 
again,  he  told  her  it  was  very  kind  of  her  to  think  of  his 
interest  at  all. 

No  answer :  she  was  not  going  to  make  friends  with 
him  over  such  a  trifle  as  that. 

By  degrees,  however,  Christopher's  zeal  on  her  behalf 
broke  the  ice  j  and  besides,  as  the  search  proved  unavail- 


A  SIMPLETON.  381 

ing,  slie  needed  sympathy  ;  and  he  gave  it  her,  and  did 
not  abuse  her  husband  as  Dick  Dale  did. 

One  day,  in  the  street,  after  a  long  thought,  she  said 
to  him,  "  Didn't  you  say,  sir,  you  gave  him  a  letter  for 
me?" 

"  I  gave  him  two  letters ;  one  of  them  was  to  you." 

"  Could  you  remember  what  you  said  in  it  ?  " 

"Perfectly.  I  begged  you,  if  you  should  go  to  Eng- 
land, to  break  the  truth  to  my  wife.  She  is  very  excit- 
able ;  and  sudden  joy  has  killed  ere  now.  I  gave  you 
particular  instructions." 

"  And  you  were  very  wise.  But  whatever  could  make 
you  think  I  would  go  to  England  ?  " 

"  He  told  me  you  only  wanted  an  excuse." 

" Oh  I !  " 

"  When  he  told  me  that,  I  caught  at  it,  of  course.  It 
was  all  the  world  to  me  to  get  my  Kosa  told  by  such  a 
kind,  good,  sensible  friend  as  you;  and,  Mrs.  Falcon,  I 
had  no  scruple  about  troubling  you,  because  I  knew  the 
stones  would  sell  for  at  least  a  thousand  pounds  more  in 
England  than  here,  and  that  would  pay  your  expenses." 

"  I  see,  sir ;  I  see.  'Twas  very  natural :  you  love  your 
wife." 

"  Better  than  my  life." 

"  And  he  told  you  I  only  wanted  an  excuse  to  go  to 
England  ?  " 

'•  He  did,  indeed.     It  was  not  true  ?  " 

"It  was  anything  but  true.  I  had  suffered  so  in 
England ;  I  had  been  so  happy  here  :  too  happy  to  last. 
Ah !  well,  it  is  all  over.  Let  us  think  of  the  matter  in 
hand.  Sure  that  was  not  the  only  letter  you  gave  my 
husband  ?     Didn't  you  write  to  her  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did ;  but  that  was  enclosed  to  you,  and 
not  to  be  given  to  her  until  you  had  broken  the  joyful 
news  to  her.     Yes,  Mrs.  Falcon,  I  wrote  and  told  her 


382  A  SIMPLETON. 

everything :  my  loss  at  sea ;  how  I  was  saved,  after,  by 
your  kindness.  Our  journeys,  from  Cape  Town,  and 
then  to  the  diggings ;  my  sudden  good  fortune,  my 
hopes,  my  joy  —  0  .my  poor  Eosa !  and  now  I  suppose 
she  will  never  get  it.  It  is  too  cruel  of  him.  I  shall  go 
home  by  the  next  steamer.  I  canH  stay  here  any  longer, 
for  you  or  anybody.  Oh,  and  I  enclosed  my  ruby  ring 
that  she  gave  me,  for  I  thought  she  might  not  believe 
you  without  that." 

"  Let  me  think,"  said  Phoebe,  turning  ashy  pale.  "  For 
mercy's  sake,  let  me  think  ! 

"  He  has  read  both  those  letters,  sir. 

"  She  will  never  see  hers  :  any  more  than  I  shall  see 
mine." 

She  paused  again,  thinking  harder  and  harder. 

"  We  must  take  two  places  in  the  next  mail  steamer. 
I  must  look  after  my  husband,  and  you  aftek  your 

WIFE." 


A   SlMl'LETON.  383 


CHAPTEK  XXV. 

Mrs.  Falcon's  bitter  feeling  against  Dr.  Staines  did 
not  subside  j  it  merely  went  out  of  sight  a  little.  They 
were  thrown  together  by  potent  circumstances,  and  in  a 
manner  connected  by  mutual  obligations ;  so  an  open 
rupture  seemed  too  unnatural.  Still  Phoebe  was  a 
woman,  and,  blinded  by  her  love  for  her  husband,  could 
not  forgive  the  innocent  cause  of  their  present  un- 
happy separation ;  though  the  fault  lay  entirely  with 
Falcon. 

Staines  took  her  on  board  the  steamer,  and  paid  her 
every  attention.  She  was  also  civil  to  him ;  but  it  was 
a  cold  and  constrained  civility. 

About  a  hundred  miles  from  land  the  steamer  stopped, 
and  the  passengers  soon  learned  there  was  something 
wrong  with  her  machinery.  In  fact,  after  due  consulta- 
tion, the  captain  decided  to  put  back. 

This  irritated  and  distressed  Mrs.  Falcon  so  that  the 
captain,  desirous  to  oblige  her,  hailed  a  fast  schooner, 
that  tacked  across  her  bows,  and  gave  Mrs.  Falcon  the 
option  of  going  back  with  him,  or  going  on  in  the 
schooner,  with  whose  skipper  he  was  acquainted. 

Staines  advised  her  on  no  account  to  trust  to  sails, 
when  she  could  have  steam  with  only  a  delay  of  four  or 
five  days  ;  but  she  said,  "  Anything  sooner  than  go  back. 
I  can't,  I  can't  on  such  an  errand." 

Accordingly  she  was  put  on  board  the  schooner,  and 
Staines,  after  some  hesitation,  felt  bound  to  accompany 
her. 

It  proved  a  sad  error.     Contrary  winds  assailed  them 


384  A   SIMPLETON. 

the  very  next  day,  and  with  such  severity  that  they  had 
repeatedly  to  lie  to. 

On  one  of  these  occasions,  with  a  ship  reeling  under 
them  like  a  restive  horse,  and  the  waves  running  moun- 
tains high,  poor  Phoebe's  terrors  overmastered  both  her 
hostility  and  her  reserve.  "  Doctor,"  said  she,  "  I  believe 
'tis  God's  will  we  shall  never  see  England.  I  must  try 
and  die  more  like  a  Christian  than  I  have  lived,  forgiving 
all  who  have  wronged  me,  and  you,  that  have  been  my 
good  friend  and  my  worst  enemy,  but  you  did  not  mean 
it.  Sir,  what  has  turned  me  against  you  so  —  your  wife 
was  my  husband's  sweetheart  before  he  married  me." 

"  My  wife  your  husband's  —  you  are  dreaming." 

"Nay,  sir,  once  she  came  to  my  shop,  and  I  saw 
directly  I  was  nothing  to  him,  and  he  owned  it  all  to  me  ; 
he  had  courted  her,  and  she  jilted  him;  so  he  said.  Why 
should  he  tell  me  a  lie  about  that  ?  I'd  lay  my  life  'tis 
true.  And  now  you  have  sent  him  to  her  your  own  self ; 
and,  at  sight  of  her,  I  shall  be  nothing  again.  Well, 
when  this  ship  goes  down,  they  can  marry,  and  •!  hope 
he  will  be  happy,  happier  than  I  can  make  him,  that 
tried  my  best,  God  knows." 

This  conversation  surprised  Staines  not  a  little.  How- 
ever, he  said,  with  great  warmth,  it  was  false.  His  wife 
had  danced  and  flirted  with  some  young  gentleman  at 
one  time,  when  there  was  a  brief  misunderstanding 
between  him  and  her,  but  sweetheart  she  had  never  had, 
except  him.  He  courted  her  fresh  from  school.  "  Now, 
my  good  soul,"  said  he,  "make  your  mind  easy;  the 
ship  is  a  good  one,  and  well  handled,  and  in  no  danger 
whatever,  and  my  wife  is  in  no  danger  from  your 
husband.  Since  you  and  your  brother  tell  me  that  he 
is  a  villain,  I  am  bound  to  believe  you.  But  my  wife 
is  an  angel.  In  our  miserable  hour  of  parting,  slie 
vowed  not  to  marry  again,  should  I  be  taken  from  lier. 


A   SIMP  J.  ETON.  385 

Marry  again  !  what  am  I  talking  of?  Wliy,  if  lie  visits 
her  at  all,  it  will  he  to  let  her  know  I  am  alive,  and  give 
her  my  letter.  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  she  will  listen 
to  vows  of  love  from  him,  when  her  whole  heart  is  in 
rapture  for  me  ?     Such  nonsense  ! " 

This  burst  of  his  did  not  affront  her,  and  did  not 
comfort  her. 

At  last  the  wind  abated ;  and  after  a  wearisome  calm, 
a  light  breeze  came,  and  the  schooner  crej^t  home- 
ward. 

Phoebe  restrained  herself  for  several  days ;  but  at  last 
she  came  back  to  the  subject;  this  time  it  was  in  an 
apologetic  tone  at  starting.  "I  know  you  think  me  a 
foolish  woman,"  she  said ;  "  but  my  poor  Eeginald  could 
never  resist  a  pretty  face ;  and  she  is  so  lovely ;  and  you 
should  have  seen  how  he  turned  when  she  came  in  to  my 
place.  Oh,  sir,  there  has  been  more  between  them  than 
you  know  of ;  and  when  I  think  that  he  will  have  been 
in  England  so  many  months  before  we  get  there,  oh, 
doctor,  sometimes  I  feel  as  I  should  go  mad ;  my  head  it 
is  like  a  furnace,  and  see,  my  brow  is  all  wrinkled  again." 

Then  Staines  tried  to  comfort  her;  assured  her  she 
was  tormenting  herself  idly ;  her  husband  would  perhaps 
have  spent  some  of  the  diamond  money  on  his  amuse- 
ment ;  but  what  if  he  had  ?  he  should  deduct  it  out  of 
the  big  diamond,  which  was  also  their  joint  property, 
and  the  loss  would  hardly  be  felt.  "As  to  my  wife, 
madam,  I  have  but  one  anxiety ;  lest  he  should  go  blurt- 
ing it  out  that  I  am  alive,  and  almost  kill  her  with  joy." 

"  He  will  not  do  that,  sir.     He  is  no  fool." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it ;  for  there  is  nothing  else  to  fear." 

"Man,  I  tell  you  there  is  everything  to  fear.  You 
don't  know  him  as  I  do ;  nor  his  power  over  women." 

"  Mrs,  Falcon,  are  you  bent  on  affronting  me  ?  " 

^^No,  sir ;  Heaven  forbid !  " 


386  A   SIMPLETON. 

"Then  please  to  close  this  subject  forever.     In  three 

weeks  we  shall  be  in  England." 

"  Ay ;  but  he  has  been  there  six  months." 

He  bowed  stiffly  to  her,  Avent  to  his  cabin,  and  avoided 

the  poor  foolish  woman  as  much  as  he  could  without 

seeming  too  unkind. 


A   SIMPLETON.  o87 


CHAPTEK  XXVI. 

Mrs.  Statnes  made  one  or  two  movements  —  to  stop 
Lord  Tadcaster  —  with  her  hand,  that  exi)ressive  feature 
with  which,  at  such  times,  a  sensitive  woman  can  do  all 
but  speak. 

When  at  last  he  paused  for  her  reply,  she  said,  "  Me 
marry  again  !     Oh  !  for  shame  ! " 

"Mrs.  Staines  —  Eosa  —  you  will  marry  again,  some 
day." 

"  ISTever.  Me  take  another  husband,  after  such  a  man 
as  I  have  lost !  I  should  be  a  monster.  Oh,  Lord  Tad- 
caster,  you  have  been  so  kind  to  me  ;  so  sympathizing. 
You  made  me  believe  you  loved  my  Christopher,  too; 
and  now  you  have  spoiled  all.     It  is  too  cruel." 

"  Oh !  Mrs.  Staines,  do  you  think  me  capable  of  feign- 
ing —  don't  you  see  my  love  for  you  has  taken  you  by 
surprise  ?  But  how  could  I  visit  you  —  look  on  you  — 
hear  you  —  mingle  my  regrets  with  yours ;  yours  were 
the  deepest,  of  course  ;  but  mine  were  honest." 

"  I  believe  it."  And  she  gave  him  her  hand.  He  held 
it,  and  kissed  it,  and  cried  over  it,  as  the  young  will,  and- 
implored  her,  on  his  knees,  not  to  condemn  herseK  to 
life-long  widowhood,  and  him  to  despair. 

Then  she  cried,  too;  but  she  was  firm;  and  by 
degrees  she  made  him  see  that  her  heart  was  inac- 
cessible. 

Then  at  last  he  submitted  with  tearful  eyes,  but  a 
valiant  heart. 

She  offered  friendship  timidly. 

But  he  was  too  much  of  a  man  to  fall  into  that  trap. 


388  A    SIMPLETON. 

"No,"  he  said:  "I  could  not,  I  could  not.  Love  or 
notliing." 

"You  are  right,"  said  she,  pityingly.  "Eorgive  me. 
In  my  selfishness  and  my  usual  folly,  I  did  not  see  this 
coming  on,  or  I  would  have  spared  you  this  mortification." 

"  Never  mind  that,"  gulped  the  little  earl.  "  I  shall 
always  be  proud  I  knew  you,  and  proud  I  loved  you,  and 
offered  you  my  hand." 

Then  the  magnanimous  little  fellow  blessed  her,  and 
left  her,  and  discontinued  his  visits. 

Mr.  Lusignan  found  her  crying,  and  got  the  truth  out 
of  her.  He  was  in  despair.  He  remonstrated  kindly, 
but  firmly.  Truth  compels  me  to  say  that  she  politely 
ignored  him.  He  observed  that  phenomenon,  and  said, 
"  Very  well  then,  I  shall  telegraph  for  Uncle  Philip." 

"  Do,"  said  the  rebel.     "  He  is  always  welcome." 

Philip,  telegraphed,  came  down  that  evening;  likewise 
his  little  black  bag.  He  found  them  in  the  drawing- 
room  :  papa  with  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  Posa  seated, 
sewing,  at  a  lamp.  She  made  little  Christie's  clothes 
herself,  —  fancy  that ! 

Having  ascertained  that  the  little  boy  was  well,  Philip, 
adroitly  hiding  that  he  had  come  down  torn  with  anxiety 
on  that  head,  inquired  with  a  show  of  contemptuous  in- 
difference, whose  cat  was  dead. 

•  "Nobody's,"  said  Lusignan  crossly.  Then  he  turned 
and  pointed  the  Gazette  at  his  offspring.  "  Do  you  see 
that  young  lady  stitching  there  so  demurely  ?  " 

Philip,  carefully  wiped  and  then  put  on  his  spectacles. 

"I  see  her,"  said  he.  "She  does  look  a  little  too 
innocent.  None  of  them  are  really  so  innocent  as  all 
that.  Has  she  been  swearing  at  the  nurse,  and  boxing 
her  ears  ?  " 

"  Worse  than  that.  She  has  been  and  refused  the  Earl 
of  Tadcaster." 


A   SIMPLETON.  389 

"Refused  liiiii  —  what!  has  that  little  monkey  had 
the  audacity  ?  " 

"  The  condescension,  you  mean.     Yes." 

"And  she  has  refused  him  ?  " 

"  And  twenty  thousand  a  year." 

"  What  immorality  ! " 

"  Worse.     What  absurdity  !  " 

"  How  is  it  to  be  accounted  for  ?  Is  it  the  old  story  ? 
'I  could  never  love  him.'  No;  that's  inadequate;  for 
they  all  love  a  title  and  twenty  thousand  a  year." 

Eosa  sewed  on  all  this  time  in  demure  and  absolute 
silence. 

"  She  ignores  us,"  said  Philip.  "  It  is  intolerable. 
She  does  not  appreciate  our  politeness  in  talking  at  her. 
Let  us  arraign  her  before  our  sacred  tribunal,  and  have 
her  into  court.  Now,  mistress,  the  Senate  of  Venice  is 
assembled,  and  you  must  be  pleased  to  tell  us  why  you 
refused  a  title  and  twenty  thousand  a  year,  with  a  small 
but  symmetrical  earl  tacked  on." 

Rosa  laid  down  her  work,  and  said  quietly,  "Uncle, 
almost  the  last  words  that  passed  between  me  and  my 
Christopher,  we  promised  each  other  solemnly  never  to 
marry  again  till  death  should  us  part.  You  know  how 
deej)  my  sorrow  has  been  that  I  can  find  so  few  wishes 
of  my  lost  Christopher  to  obey.  Well,  to-day  I  have 
had  an  opportunity  at  last.  I  have  obeyed  my  own  lost 
one ;  it  has  cost  me  a  tear  or  two ;  but,  for  all  that,  it 
has  given  me  one  little  gleam  of  happiness.  Ah,  foolish 
woman,  that  obeys  too  late  !  " 

And  with  this  the  tears  began  to  run. 

All  this  seemed  a  little  too  high-flown  to  Mr.  Lusignan. 
"  There,"  said  he,  "  see  on  what  a  straw  her  mind  turns. 
So,  but  for  that,  you  would  have  done  the  right  thing, 
and  married  the  earl  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  I  should  —  at  the  time  —  to  stop  his 
crying." 


390  A   SEMPLETON. 

And  with  this  listless  remark  she  quietly  took  up  her 
sewing  again. 

The  sagacious  Philip  looked  at  her  gravely.  He  thought 
to  himself  how  piteous  it  was  to  see  so  young  and  lovely 
a  creature,  that  had  given  up  all  hope  of  happiness  for 
herself.  These  being  his  real  thoughts,  he  exj^ressed 
himself  as  follows:  "We  had  better  drop  this  subject, 
sir.  This  young  lady  will  take  us  potent,  grave,  and 
reverend  seignors  out  of  our  depth,  if  we  don't  mind.*' 

But  the  moment  he  got  her  alone  he  kissed  her  pater- 
nally, and  said,  "  Rosa,  it  is  not  lost  on  me,  your  fidelity 
to  the  dead.  As  years  roll  on,  and  your  deep  wound  first 
closes,  then  skins,  then  heals  —  '^ 

"  Ah,  let  me  die  first  —  " 

"  Time  and  nature  will  absolve  you  from  that  vow ; 
but  bless  you  for  thinking  this  can  never  be.  Eosa, 
your  folly  of  this  day  has  made  you  my  heir ;  so  never 
let  money  tempt  you,  for  you  have  enough,  and  will 
have  more  than  enough  when  I  go." 

He  was  as  good  as  his  word ;  altered  his  will  next  day, 
and  made  Eosa  his  residuary  legatee.  When  he  had 
done  this,  foreseeing  no  fresh  occasion  for  his  services, 
he  prepared  for  a  long  visit  to  Italy.  He  was  pa'cking 
up  his  things  to  go  there,  when  he  received  a  line  from 
Lady  Cicely  Treherne,  asking  him  to  call  on  her  pro- 
fessionally. As  the  lady's  servant  brought  it,  he  sent 
back  a  line  to  say  he  no  longer  practised  medicine,  but 
would  call  on  her  as  a  friend  in  an  hour's  time. 

He  found  her  reclining,  the  picture  of  lassitude.  "  How 
good  of  you  to  come,"  she  drawled. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  said  he  brusquely. 

"  I  wish  to  cawnsult  you  about  myself.  I  think  if  any- 
body can  brighten  me  up,  it  is  you.  I  feel  such  a  languaw 
—  such  a  want  of  spirit  j  and  I  get  palaa,  and  that  is  not 
desiwable.'^ 


A   SIMPLETON.  301 

He  examined  her  tongiie  and  the  white  of  her  eye,  and 
told  her,  in  his  blunt  way,  she  ate  and  drank  too  much. 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  she  stiffly. 

"I  mean  too  often.  Now,  let's  see.  Cup  of  tea  in 
bed,  of  a  morning  ?  " 

"  Yaas." 

"  Dinner  at  two  ?  " 

"  We  call  it  luncheon." 

"  Are  you  a  ventriloquist  ?  " 

"No." 

"Then  it  is  only  your  lips  call  it  luncheon.  Your  poor 
stomach,  could  it  speak,  would  call  it  dinner.  Afternoon 
tea?" 

"Yaas." 

"At  seven-thirty  another  dinner.  Tea  after  that. 
Your  afflicted  stomach  gets  no  rest.     You  eat  pastry?" 

"  I  confess  it." 

"  And  sugar  in  a  dozen  forms  ?  " 

She  nodded. 

"Well,  sugar  is  poison  to  your  temperament.  Now 
I'll  set  you  up,  if  you  can  obey.  Give  up  your  morning 
dram." 

"Wliat  dwam?" 

"  Tea  in  bed,  before  eating.  Can't  you  see  that  is  a 
dram  ?  Animal  food  twice  a  day.  No  wine  but  a  little 
claret  and  water ;  no  pastry,  no  sweets,  and  play  battle- 
dore with  one  of  your  male  subjects." 

"  Battledaw  !  won't  a  lady  do  for  that  ?  " 

"No :  you  would  get  talking,  and  not  iday  ad  siidoremJ^ 

"  Ad  sudawem  !  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  In  earnest." 

"And  will  sudawem  and  the  west  put  me  in  better 
spiwits,  and  give  me  a  tinge  ?  " 

"  It  will  incarnadine  the  lily,  and  make  you  the  happi- 
est young  lady  in  England,  as  you  are  the  best." 


392  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  I  should  like  to  be  mucli  happier  than  I  am  good,  if 
we  could  manage  it  among  us." 

"  We  will  manage  it  among  us ;  for  if  the  diet  allowed 
should  not  make  you  boisterously  gay,  I  have  a  remedy 
behind,  suited  to  your  temperament.  I  am  old-fashioned, 
and  believe  in  the  temperaments." 

"  And  what  is  that  weniedy  ?  " 

"  Try  diet,  and  hard  exercise,  first." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  but  let  me  know  that  wemedy." 

"  I  warn  you  it  is  what  we  call  in  medicine  an  heroic 
one." 

"Never  mind.     I  am  despewate." 

"  Well,  then,  the  heroic  remedy  —  to  be  used  only  as  a 
desperate  resort,  mind  —  you  must  marry  an  Irishman." 

This  took  the  lady's  breath  away. 

"  Mawwy  a  nice  man  ?  " 

"  A  nice  man ;  no.  That  means  a  fool.  Marry  scien- 
tifically—  a  precaution  eternally  neglected.  Marry  a 
Hibernian  gentleman,  a  being  as  mercurial  as  ^-ou  are 
lymphatic." 

"  Mercurial !  —  lymphatic  !  "  — 

"  Oh,  hard  words  break  no  bones,  ma'am." 

"No,  sir.  And  it  is  very  curious.  No,  I  won't  tell 
you.  Yes,  I  will.  Hem !  —  I  think  I  have  noticed 
one." 

"  One  what  ?  " 

"  One  Iwishman  —  dangling  after  me." 

"  Then  your  ladyship  has  only  to  tighten  the  cord  — 
and  he^s  done  for." 

Having  administered  this  prescription,  our  laughing 
philosopher  went  off  to  Italy,  and  there  fell  in  with 
some  countrymen  to  his  mind,  so  he  accompanied  them 
to  Egypt  and  Palestine. 

His  absence,  and  Lord  Tadcaster's,  made  E-osa  Staines's 
life  extremely  monotonous.     Day  followed  day,  and  week 


A  SIMPLETON.  393 

followed  week,  each  so  unvarying,  that,  on  a  retrospect, 
three  montlis  seemed  like  one  day. 

And  I  think  at  last  youth  and  nature  began  to  rebel, 
and  secretly  to  crave  some  little  change  or  incident  to 
ruffle  the  stagnant  pool.  Yet  she  would  not  go  into 
society,  and  would  only  receive  tAvo  or  three  dull  people 
at  the  villa ;  so  she  made  the  very  monotony  which  was 
beginning  to  tire  her,  and  nursed  a  sacred  grief  she  had 
no  need  to  nurse,  it  was  so  truly  genuine. 

She  was  in  this  forlorn  condition,  when,  one  morning, 
a  carriage  drove  to  the  door,  and  a  card  was  brought  up 
to  her  —  "Mr.  Keginald  Falcon." 

Falcon's  history,  between  this  and  our  last  advices,  is 
soon  disposed  of. 

When,  after  a  little  struggle  with  his  better  angel,  he 
rode  past  his  wife's  gate,  he  intended,  at  first,  only  to  go 
to  Cape  Town,  sell  the  diamonds,  have  a  lark,  and  bring 
home  the  balance :  but,  as  he  rode  south,  his  views 
expanded.  He  could  have  ten  times  the  fun  in  London, 
and  cheaper;  since  he  could  sell  the  diamonds  for  more 
money,  and  also  conceal  the  true  price.  This  was  the 
Bohemian's  whole  mind  in  the  business.  He  had  no 
designs  whatever  on  Mrs.  Staines,  nor  did  he  intend  to 
steal  the  diamonds,  but  to  embezzle  a  portion  of  the 
purchase-money,  and  enjoy  the  pleasures  and  vices  of 
the  capital  for  a  few  months ;  then  back  to  his  milch 
cow,  Phoebe,  and  lead  a  rpiiet  life  till  the  next  uncon- 
trollable fit  should  come  upon  him  along  with  the  means 
of  satisfying  it. 

On  the  way,  he  read  Staines's  letter  to  jVIrs.  Falcon, 
very  carefully.  He  never  broke  the  seal  of  the  letter 
to  Mrs.  Staines.  That  was  to  be  given  her  when  he  had 
broken  the  good  news  to  her ;  and  this  he  determined  to 
do  with  such  skill,  as  should  niake  Dr.  Staines  very 
unwilling  to  look  suspiciously  or  ill-naturedly  into  money 
accounts. 


394  A   SIMPLETON. 

He  readied  London ;  and  being  a  tliorough  egotist, 
attended  first  to  his  own  interests  ;  lie  never  went  near 
Mrs.  Staines  until  lie  had  visited  every  diamond  mer- 
chant and  dealer  in  the  metropolis  ;  he  showed  the  small 
stones  to  them  all ;  but  he  showed  no  more  than  one 
large  stone  to  each. 

At  last  he  got  an  offer  of  twelve  hundred  pounds  for 
the  small  stones,  and  the  same  for  the  large  yellow  stone^, 
and  nine  hundred  pounds  for  the  second  largest  stone. 
He  took  this  nine  hundred  pounds,  and  instantly  wrote 
to  Phoebe,  telling  her  he  had  a  sudden  inspiration  to 
bring  the  diamonds  to  England,  which  he  could  not 
regret,  since  he  had  never  done  a  Aviser  thing.  He  had 
sold  a  single  stone  for  eight  hundred  pounds,  and  had 
sent  the  doctor's  four  hundred  pounds  to  her  account  in 
Cape  Town ;  and  as  each  sale  was  effected,  the  half  would 
be  so  remitted.  She  would  see  by  that,  he  was  wiser 
than  in  former  days.  He  should  only  stay  so  long  as 
might  be  necessary  to  sell  them  all  equally  well.  His 
own  share  he  would  apply  to  paying  off  mortgages  on 
the  family  estate,  of  which  he  hoped  some  day  to  see 
her  the  mistress,  or  he  would  send  it  direct  to  her, 
whichever  she  might  prefer. 

Now  the  main  object  of  this  artful  letter  was  to  keep 
Phoebe  quiet,  and  not  have  her  coming  after  him,  of 
which  he  felt  she  was  very  capable. 

The  money  got  safe  to  Ca^^e  Town,  but  the  letter  to 
Phoebe  miscarried.  How  this  happened  was  never  posi- 
tively known ;  but  the  servant  of  the  lodging-house  was 
afterwards  detected  cutting  stamps  off  a  letter ;  so  per- 
haps she  had  played  that  game  on  this  occasion. 

By  this  means,  matters  took  a  curious  turn.  Falcon, 
intending  to  lull  his  wife  into  a  false  security,  lulled 
himself  into  that  state  instead. 

When  he  had  taken  care  of  himself,  and  got  five  hun- 


A   SIMPLETON.  395 

dred  pounds  to  play  the  fool  with,  then  he  condescended 
to  remember  his  errand  of  mercy;  and  he  came  down  to 
Gravesend,  to  see  Mrs.  Staines. 

On  the  road,  he  gave  his  mind  seriously  to  the  delicate 
and  dangerous  task.  It  did  not,  however,  disquiet  him 
as  it  would  you,  sir,  or  you,  madam.  He  had  a  great 
advantage  over  you.  He  was  a  liar  —  a  smooth,  ready, 
accomplished  liar  —  and  he  knew  it. 

This  was  the  outline  he  had  traced  in  his  mind :  he 
should  appear  very  subdued  and  sad;  should  wear  an 
air  of  condolence.  But,  after  a  while,  should  say,  "  And 
yet  men  have  been  lost  like  that,  and  escaped.  A  man 
was  picked  up  on  a  raft  in  those  very  latitudes,  and 
brought  into  Cape  Town.  A  friend  of  mine  saw  him, 
months  after,  at  the  hospital.  His  memory  was  shaken 
—  could  not  tell  his  name ;  but  in  other  respects  he  was 
all  right  again." 

If  jNIrs.  Staines  took  fire  at  this,  he  would  say  his 
friend  knew  all  the  particulars,  and  he  would  ask  him, 
and  so  leave  that  to  rankle  till  next  visit.  And  having 
planted  his  germ  of  hope,  he  would  grow  it,  and  water 
it,  by  visits  and  correspondence,  till  he  could  throw  off 
the  mask,  and  say  he  was  convinced  Staines  was  alive : 
and  from  that,  by  other  degrees,  till  he  could  say,  on  his 
wife's  authority,  that  the  man  picked  up  at  sea,  and 
cured  at  her  house,  was  the  very  physician  who  had  saved 
her  brother's  life  :  and  so  on  to  the  overwhelming  proof 
he  carried  in  the  ruby  ring  and  the  letter. 

I  am  afraid  the  cunning  and  dexterity,  the  subtlety 
and  tact  required,  interested  him  more  in  the  commission 
than  did  the  benevolence.  He  called,  sent  up  his  card, 
and  composed  his  countenance  for  his  part,  like  an  actor 
at  the  Wing. 

"Not  at  home." 

He  stared  with  amazement. 


396  A  SIMPLETON. 

The  history  of  a  "  Not  at  home "  is  not,  in  general, 
worth  recording :  but  this  is  an  excei)tion. 

On  receiving  Falcon's  card,  Mrs.  Staines  gave  a  little 
start,  and  colored  faintly.  She  instantly  resolved  not  to 
see  him.  What !  the  man  she  had  flirted  with,  almost 
jilted,  and  refused  to  marry  —  he  dared  to  be  alive  when 
her  Christopher  was  dead,  and  had  come  there  to  show 
her  he  was  alive  ! 

She  said  "  Not  at  home  "  with  a  tone  of  unusual  sharp- 
ness and  decision,  Avhich  left  the  servant  in  no  doubt  he 
must  be  equally  decided  at  the  hall  door. 

Falcon  received  the  sudden  freezer  with  amazement. 
"  Nonsense,"  said  he.  "  Not  at  home  at  this  time  of  the 
morning  —  to  an  old  friend ! " 

"  Not  at  home,"  said  the  man  doggedly. 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  said  Falcon  with  a  bitter  sneer,  and 
returned  to  London. 

He  felt  sure  she  was  at  home  ;  and  being  a  tremendous 
egotist,  he  said,  "Oh!  all  right.  If  she  would  rather 
not  know  her  husband  is  alive,  it  is  all  one  to  me ;  " 
and  he  actually  took  no  more  notice  of  her  for  a  full 
week,  and  never  thought  of  her,  except  to  chuckle  over 
the  penalty  she  was  paying  for  daring  to  affront  his 
vanity. 

However,  Sunday  came;  he  saw  a  dull  day  before 
him,  and  so  he  relented,  and  thought  he  would  give  her 
another  trial. 

He  went  down  to  Gravesend  by  boat,  and  strolled 
towards  the  villa. 

When  he  was  about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  villa,  a 
lady,  all  in  black,  came  out  with  a  nurse  and  child. 

Falcon  knew  her  figure  all  that  way  off,  and  it  gave 
him  a  curious  thrill  that  surprised  him.  He  followed 
her,  and  was  not  very  far  behind  her  when  she  reached 
the  church.     She  turned  at  the  porch,  kissed  the  child 


A    RTMPT.ETON.  397 

earnestly,  and   c^ave    tlio   nurse   some   directions;   tlicn 
entered  the  church. 

"  Come,"  said  Falcon,  "  I'll  have  a  look  at  her,  any 

way." 

He  went  into  the  church,  and  walked  up  a  side  aisle 
to  a  pillar,  from  which  he  thought  he  might  be  al)le  to 
see  the  whole  congregation ;  and,  sure  enough,  there  she 
sat,  a  few  yards  from  him.  She  was  lovelier  than  ever. 
Mind  had  grown  on  her  face  with  trouble.  An  angelic 
expression  illuminated  her  beauty;  he  gazed  on  her, 
fascinated.  He  drank  and  drank  her  beauty  two  mortal 
hours,  and  when  the  church  broke  up,  and  she  went 
home,  he  was  half  afraid  to  follow  her,  for  he  felt  how 
liard  it  would  be  to  say  anything  to  her  but  that  the  old 
love  had  returned  on  him  with  doul)le  force. 

However,  having  watched  her  home,  he  walked  slowly 
to  and  fro  composing  himself  for  the  interview. 

He  now  determined  to  make  the  process  of  informing 
her  a  very  long  one  :  he  would  spin  it  out,  and  so  secure 
many  a  sweet  interview  with  her  :  and,  who  knows  ?  he 
might  fascinate  her  as  she  had  him,  and  ripen  gratitude 
into  love,  as  he  understood  that  Avord. 

He  called,  he  sent  in  his  card.  The  man  went  in,  and 
came  back  with  a  sonorous  "  Not  at  home." 

"  Not  at  home  ?  nonsense.  Wliy,  she  is  just  come  in 
from  church." 

"Not  at  home,"  said  the  man,  evidently  strong  in  his 
instructions. 

Falcon  turned  white  with  rage  at  this  second  affront. 
"  All  the  worse  for  her,"  said  he,  and   turned  on   liis 

heel. 

He  went  home,  raging  with  disappointment  and 
wounded  vanity,  and  —  since  such  love  as  his  is  seldom 
very  far  from  hate  —  he  swore  she  should  never  know 
from  him  that  her  husband  was  alive.     He  even  moral- 


398  A  SIMPLETON. 

ized.  "  Tliis  comes  of  being  so  unselfish/'  said  lie.  "  I'll 
give  that  game  up  forever." 

By  and  by,  a  mere  negative  revenge  was  not  enough 
for  him,  and  he  set  his  wits  to  work  to  make  her  smart. 

He  wrote  to  her  from  his  lodgings  :  — 

Dear  Madam,  —  What  a  pity  you  are  never  at  home  to  me. 
I  had  something  to  say  about  your  husband,  that  I  thonglit 
might  interest  you 

Yours  truly, 

R.  Falcon. 

Imagine  the  effect  of  ihis  abominable  note.  It  was 
like  a  rock  flung  into  a  placid  pool.  It  set  Eosa  trem- 
bling all  over.     What  could  he  mean  ? 

She  ran  with  it  to  her  father,  and  asked  him  what  Mr. 
Falcon  could  mean. 

"  I  have  no  idea,"  said  he.  "  You  had  better  ask  him, 
not  me." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  only  to  get  to  see  me.  You  know 
he  admired  me  once.     Ah,  how  suspicious  I  am  getting." 

Rosa  wrote  to  Falcon :  — 

Dear  Sir,  —  Since  my  bereavement  I  see  scarcel}^  anj-body. 
My  servant  did  not  know  you ;  so  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me. 
If  it  is  too  mueli  trouble  to  call  again,  would  you  kindly  explain 
your  note  to  me  ? 

Yours  resjDcctf ully, 

Rosa  Staines. 

Falcon  chuckled  bitterly  over  this.  "No,  my  lady," 
said  he.  "  I'll  serve  you  out.  You  shall  run  after  me  like 
a  little  dog.     I  have  got  the  bone  that  will  draw  you." 

He  wrote  back  coldly  to  say  that  the  matter  he  had 
wished  to  communicate  was  too  delicate  and  important 
to  put  on  paper ;  that  he  would  try  and  get  down  to 
Gravesend  again  some  day  or  other,  but  was  much  occu- 


A    ST:MrT.KTON.  399 

pied,  and  IkkT  already  put  himself  to  inconvenience.  He 
added,  in  a  postscript,  that  lie  was  always  at  home  from 
four  to  five. 

Next  day  he  got  hold  of  the  servant,  and  gave  her 
minute  instructions,  and  a  guinea. 

Then  the  wretch  got  some  tools  and  bored  a  hole  in 
the  partition  wall  of  his  sitting-room.  The  paper  had 
large  flowers.  He  was  artist  enough  to  conceal  the  trick 
with  water-colors.  In  his  bed-room  the  hole  came  behind 
the  curtains. 

That  very  afternoon,  as  he  had  foreseen,  Mrs.  Staines 
called  on  him.  The  maid,  duly  instructed,  said  Mr. 
FaJcon  was  out,  but  would  soon  return,  and  could  she 
wait  his  return?  The  maid  being  so  very  civil,  Mrs. 
Staines  said  she  would  wait  a  little  while,  and  was  im- 
mediately ushered  into  Falcon's  sitting-room.  There  she 
sat  down ;  but  was  evidently  ill  at  ease,  restless,  flushed. 
She  could  not  sit  quiet,  and  at  last  began  to  walk  up  and 
down  the  room,  almost  wildly.  Her  beautiful  eyes  glit- 
tered, and  the  whole  woman  seemed  on  fire.  The  caitiff, 
who  was  watching  her,  saw  and  gloated  on  all  this,  and 
enjoyed  to  the  full  her  beauty  and  agitation,  and  his 
revenge  for  her  "Not  at  homes." 

But  after  a  long  time,  there  was  a  reaction :  she  sat 
down  and  uttered  some  plaintive  sounds  inarticulate,  or 
nearly ;  and  at  last  she  began  to  cry. 

Then  it  cost  Falcon  an  effort  not  to  come  in  and  com- 
fort her ;  but  he  controlled  himself  and  kept  quiet. 

She  rang  the  bell.  She  asked  for  writing  paper,  and 
she  wrote  her  unseen  tormentor  a  humble  note,  begging 
him,  for  old  acquaintance,  to  call  on  her,  and  tell  her 
what  his  mysterious  words  meant  that  had  filled  her 
with  agitation. 

This  done,  she  went  away,  with  a  deep  sigh,  and  Falcon 
emerged,  and  pounced  upon  her  letter. 


400  A   SIMPLETON. 

He  kissed  it ;  he  read  it  a  dozen  times :  he  sat  down 
where  she  had  sat,  and  his  base  passion  overpowered 
him.  Her  beauty,  her  agitation,  her  fear,  her  tears,  all 
combined  to  madden  him,  and  do  the  devil's  work  in  his 
false,  selfish  heart,  so  open  to  violent  passions,  so  dead 
to  conscience. 

For  once  in  his  life  he  was  violently  agitated,  and  torn 
by  conflicting  feelings :  he  walked  about  the  room  more 
wildly  than  his  victim  had ;  and  if  it  be  true  that,  in 
certain  great  temptations,  good  and  bad  angels  fight  for 
a  mau,  here  you  might  have  seen  as  fierce  a  battle  of 
that  kind  as  ever  was. 

At  last  he  rushed  out  into  the  air,  and  did  not  return 
till  ten  o'clock  at  night.  He  came  back  pale  and  haggard, 
and  with  a  look  of  crime  upon  his  face. 

True  Bohemian  as  he  was,  he  sent  for  a  pint  of  brandy. 

So  then  the  die  was  cast,  and  something  was  to  be 
done  that  called  for  brandy. 

He  bolted  himself  in,  and  drank  a  wine-glass  of  it 
neat ;  then  another ;  then  another. 

Now  his  pale  cheek  is  flushed,  and  his  eye  glitters. 
Drink  forever !  great  ruin  of  English  souls  as  well  as 
bodies. 

He  put  the  poker  in  the  fire,  and  heated  it  red  hot. 

He  brought  Staines's  letter,  and  softened  the  sealing- 
wax  with  the  hot  poker ;  then  with  his  pen-knife  made  a 
neat  incision  in  the  wax,  and  opened  the  letter.  He 
took  out  the  ring,  and  put  it  carefully  away.  Tlien  he 
lighted  a  cigar,  and  read  the  letter,  and  studied  it. 
Many  a  man,  capable  of  murder  in  heat  of  passion, 
could  not  have  resisted  the  pathos  of  this  letter.  ]\Iany 
a  Newgate  thief,  after  reading  it,  would  have  felt  such 
pity  for  the  loving  husband  who  had  suffered  to  the 
verge  of  death,  and  then  to  the  brink  of  madness,  and 
for  the  poor  bereaved  wife,  that  he  would  have  taken 


A    SIMPLIOTON.  401 

the  letter  down  to  Gravesend  tliat  very  night,  though  ho 
picked  two  fresh  pockets  to  defray  the  expenses  of  the 
road. 

But  this  was  an  egotist.  Good  nature  had  curbed  liis 
egotism  a  little  while  j  but  now  vanity  and  passion  luid 
swept  away  all  unselfish  feelings,  and  the  pure  egotist 
alone  remained. 

Now,  the  pure  egotist  has  been  defined  as  a  man  wlio 
will  burn  down  his  neiyhhoi'^s  house  to  cook  himself  avi 
Q^^.  jMurder  is  but  egotism  carried  out  to  its  natunil 
climax.  What  is  murder  to  a  pure  egotist;  especially  a 
brandied  one  ? 

I  knew  an  egotist  who  met  a  female  acquaintance  in 
Newhaven  village.  She  had  a  one-pound  note,  and 
offered  to  treat  him.  She  changed  this  note  to  treat 
him.  Fish  she  gave  him,  and  much  whiskey.  Cost  her 
four  shillings.  He  ate  and  drank  with  her,  at  her  ex- 
pense ;  and  his  aorta,  or  principal  blood-vessel,  being 
warmed  with  her  whiskey,  he  murdered  her  for  the 
change,  the  odd  sixteen  shillings. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  that  egotist  hung,  with 
these  eyes.  It  was  a  slice  of  luck  that,  I  grieve  to  say, 
has  not  occurred  again  to  me. 

So  much  for  a  whiskied  egotist. 

His  less  truculent  but  equally  remorseless  brother  in 
villany,  the  brandied  egotist,  Falcon,  could  read  that 
poor  husband's  letter  without  blenching;  the  love  and 
the  anticipations  of  rapture,  these  made  him  writhe  a 
little  with  jealousy,  but  they  roused  not  a  grain  of  pity. 
He  was  a  true  egotist,  blind,  remorseless. 

In  this,  his  true  character,  he  studied  the  letter  pro- 
foundly, and  mastered  all  the  facts,  and  digested  them 
well. 

All  manner  of  diabolical  artifices  presented  themselves 
to  his  brain,  barren  of  true  intellect,  yet  fertile  in  fraud  ; 
26 


402  A  SIISIPLETON. 

in  tliat,  and  all  low  cunning  and  subtlety,  far  more  than 
a  match  for  Solomon  or  Bacon. 

His  sinister  studies  were  pursued  far  into  the  night. 
Then  he  went  to  bed,  and  his  unbounded  egotism  gave 
him  the  sleep  a  grander  criminal  would  have  courted  in 
vain  on  the  verge  of  a  monstrous  and  deliberate  crime. 

Next  day  he  went  to  a  fashionable  tailor,  and  ordered 
a  complete  suit  of  black.  This  was  made  in  forty-eight 
hours ;  the  interval  was  sjient  mainly  in  concocting  lies 
to  be  incorporated  with  the  number  of  minute  facts  he 
had  gained  from  Staines's  letter,  and  in  making  close 
imitations  of  his  handwriting. 

Thus  armed,  and  crammed  with  more  lies  than  the 
'•  Menteur  "  of  Corneille,  but  not  such  innocent  ones,  he 
went  down  to  Gravesend,  all  in  deep  mourning,  with 
crape  round  his  hat. 

He  presented  himself  at  the  villa. 

The  servant  was  all  obsequiousness.  Yes,  Mrs.  Staines 
received  few  visitors ;  but  she  was  at  home  to  hhn.  He 
even  began  to  falter  excuses.  "Nonsense,"  said  Falcon, 
and  slipped  a  sovereign  into  his  hand ;  "  you  are  a  good 
servant,  and  obey  orders." 

The  servant's  respect  doubled,  and  he  ushered  the 
visitor  into  the  drawing-room,  as  one  wliose  name  was  a 
passport.     "  Mr.  Eeginald  Falcon,  madam." 

Mrs.  Staines  was  alone.  She  rose  to  meet  him.  Her 
color  came  and  went,  her  full  eye  fell  on  him,  and  took 
in  all  at  a  glance  —  that  he  was  all  in  black,  and  that  he 
had  a  beard,  and  looked  pale,  and  ill  at  ease. 

Little  dreaming  that  this  Avas  the  anxiety  of  a  felon 
about  to  take  the  actual  plunge  into  a  novel  crime,  she 
was  rather  prepossessed  by  it.  The  beard  gave  him  dig- 
nity, and  hid  his  mean,  cruel  mouth.  His  black  suit 
seemed  to  say  he,  too,  had  lost  some  one  dear  to  him  j 
and  that  was  a  ground  of  sympathy. 


A    SIMTLIOTON.  403 

She  received  liiiii  kindly,  and  thanked  him  for  takin<^ 
the  troiibk^  to  eonie  again.  She  beg<,a'd  him  to  he  seated; 
and  then,  womanlike,  she  waited  for  him  to  explain. 

But  he  was  in  no  hurry,  and  waited  for  her.  He  knew 
she  would  speak  if  he  was  silent. 

She  could  not  keep  him  waiting  long.  "Mr.  Falcon," 
said  she,  hesitating  a  little,  "you  have  something  to  say 
to  me  about  him  I  have  lost." 

"Yes,"  Said  he  softly.  "I  have  something  I  could 
say,  and  I  think  I  ought  to  say  it;  but  I  am  afraid:  be- 
cause I  don't  know  what  will  be  the  result.  I  fear  to 
make  you  more  unhappy." 

"  Me  !  more  unhap})y  ?  Me,  whose  dear  husband  lies 
at  the  bottom  of  the  ocean.  Other  poor  wounded  creat- 
ures have  the  wretched  comfort  of  knowing  where  he 
lies  —  of  carrying  flowers  to  his  tomb.  But  I  —  oh,  iVIr. 
Falcon,  I  am  bereaved  of  all :  even  his  poor  remains  lost, 
—  lost  "  —  she  could  say  no  more. 

Then  that  craven  heart  began  to  quake  at  what  he 
was  doing ;  quaked,  yet  persevered ;  but  his  own  voice 
quivered,  and  his  cheek  grew  ashy  pale.  No  wonder. 
If  ever  God  condescended  to  pour  lightning  on  a  skunk, 
surely  now  was  the  time. 

Shakiiig  and  sweating  with  terror  at  his  own  act,  he 
stammered  out,  "Would  it  be  the  least  comfort  to  you 
to  know  that  you  are  not  denied  that  poor  consolation  ? 
Suppose  he  died  not  so  miserably  as  you  think  ?  Sup- 
pose he  was  picked  up  at  sea,  in  a  dying  state  ?  " 

"Ah!" 

"  Su]3pose  he  lingered,  nursed  by  kind  and  sympathizing 
hands,  that  almost  saved  him  ?  Suppose  he  was  laid  in 
hallowed  ground,  and  a  great  many  tears  shed  over  his 
grave  ? " 

"  Ah,  that  would  indeed  be  a  comfort.  And  it  was  to 
say  this  you  came.     I  thank  you.     I  bless  you.     But,  my 


404  A   SIMPLETON. 

good,  kind  friend,  you  are  deceived.  You  don't  know 
my  husband.  You  never  saw  him.  He  perished  at 
sea." 

"  Will  it  be  kind  or  unkind,  to  tell  you  why  I  think  he 
died  as  I  tell  you,  and  not  at  sea  ?  " 

"  Kind,  but  impossible.  You  deceive  yourself.  Ah,  I 
see.  You  found  some  poor  sufferer,  and  were  good  to 
him  ;  but  it  was  not  my  x^oor  Christie.  Oh,  if  it  w^ere, 
I  should  worship  you.  But  I  thank  you  as  it  is.  It 
was  very  kind  to  want  to  give  me  this  little,  little  crumb 
of  comfort ;  for  I  know  I  did  not  behave  well  to  you, 
sir:  but  you  are  generous,  and  have  forgiven  a  poor 
heart-broken  creature,  that  never  was  very  wdse." 

He  gave  her  time  to  cry,  and  then  said  to  her,  "  I  only 
wanted  to  be  sure  it  ivould  be  any  comfort  to  you.  Mrs. 
Staines,  it  is  true  I  did  not  even  knoAV  his  name ;  nor 
yours.  When  I  met,  in  this  very  room,  the  great  dis- 
appointment that  has  saddened  my  owai  life,  I  left  Eng- 
land directly.  I  collected  funds,  w^ent  to  Natal,  and 
turned  land-owner  and  farmer.  I  have  made  a  large 
fortune,  but  I  need  not  tell  you  I  am  not  happy.  Well, 
I  had  a  yacht,  and  sailing  from  Cape  Town  to  Algoa  Bay, 
I  picked  up  a  raft,  with  a  dying  man  on  it.  He  Avas 
perishing  from  exhaustion  and  exposure.  I  got  a  little 
brandy  between  his  lips,  and  kept  him  alive.  I  landed 
with  him  at  once :  and  we  nursed  him  on  shore.  We 
had  to  be  very  cautious.  He  improved.  We  got  him  to 
take  egg-flip.  He  smiled  on  us  at  first,  and  then  he 
thanked  us.  I  nursed  him  day  and  night  for  ten  days. 
He  got  much  stronger.  He  spoke  to  me,  thanked  him 
again  and  again,  and  told  me  his  name  Avas  Christopher 
Staines.  He  told  me  that  he  should  never  get  AvelL  I 
implored  him  to  have  courage.  He  said  he  did  not  Avant 
for  courage  ;  but  nature  had  been  tried  too  hard.  We 
got  so  fond  of  each  other.     Oh  !  "  —  and  the  caitiff  pre- 


A  SIMPLETON.  405 

tended  tu  break  down;  and  his  feigned  grief  mingled 
with  Rosa's  despairing  sobs. 

He  made  an  apparent  effort,  and  said,  "  He  spoke  to 
jne  of  his  wife,  his  darling  Rosa.  The  name  made  me 
start,  but  I  coukl  not»  know  it  was  you.  At  last  he  was 
strong  enough  to  write  a  few  lines,  and  he  made  me 
promise  to  take  them  to  his  wife." 

"  Ah !  "  said  Rosa.     "  Show  them  me." 

"  I  win." 

"This  moment."  And  her  hands  began  to  work 
convulsively. 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Falcon.  "  I  have  not  brought  them 
with  me." 

Rosa  cast  a  keen  eye  of  suspicion  and  terror  on  him. 
His  not  bringing  the  letter  seemed  monstrous ;  and  so 
indeed  it  was.     The  fact  is,  the  letter  was  not  written. 

Falcon  affected  not  to  notice  her  keen  look.  He  flowed 
on,  "  The  address  he  put  on  that  letter  astonished  me. 
'Kent  Villa.'  Of  course  I  knew  Kent  Villa:  and  he 
called  you  '  Rosa.'  " 

"How  could  you  come  to  me  without  that  letter?" 
cried  Rosa,  wringing  her  hands.  "  How  am  I  to  know  ? 
It  is  all  so  strange,  so  incredible." 

"  Don't  you  believe  me  ?  "  said  Falcon  sadly.  '•  Wliy 
should  I  deceive  you  ?  The  first  time  I  came  down  to 
tell  you  all  this,  I  did  not  know  who  Mrs.  Staines  was. 
I  suspected ;  but  no  more.  The  second  time  I  saw  you 
in  the  church,  and  then  I  knew;  and  followed  you  to 
try  and  tell  you  all  this ;  and  you  were  not  at  home 
to  me." 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Rosa  carelessly :  then  earnestly, 
"The  letter!  when  can  I  see  it?" 

'•  I  will  send,  or  bring  it." 

"'  Bring  it !  I  am  in  agony  till  I  see  it.  Oh,  my  dar- 
ling !  my  darling !     It  can't  be  true.     It  was  not  my 


406  A   SIMrLETON. 

Christie.  He  lies  in  the  depths  of  the  ocean.  Lord 
Tadcaster  was  in  the  shij),  and  he  says  so ;  everybody 
says  so." 

"  And  I  say  he  sleeps  in  hallowed  ground,  and  these 
hands  laid  him  there." 

Bosa  lifted  her  hands  to  heaven,  and  cried  piteously, 
^'  I  don't  knoAV  what  to  think.  You  would  not  willingly 
deceive  me.  But  how  can  this  be  ?  Oh,  Uncle  Philip, 
why  are  you  away  from  me  ?  Sir,  you  say  he  gave  you 
a  letter  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh,  why,  why  did  you  not  bring  it  ?  " 

"  Because  he  told  me  the  contents  ;  and  I  thought  he 
prized  my  poor  efforts  too  highly.  It  did  not  occur  to 
me  you  would  doubt  my  word." 

'^  Oh,  no :  no  more  I  do :  but  I  fear  it  was  not  my 
Christie." 

^'  I'll  go  for  the  letter  at  once,  Mrs.  Staines." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !     Bless  you  !     Yes,  this  minute  !  " 

The  artful  rogue  did  not  go ;  never  intended. 

He  rose  to  go ;  but  had  a  sudden  inspiration ;  very 
sudden,  of  course.  "Had  he  nothing  about  him  you 
could  recognize  him  by?" 

"  Yes,  he  had  a  ring  I  gave  him."- 

Falcon  took  a  black-edged  envelope  out  of  his  pocket. 

"  A  ruby  ring,"  said  she,  beginning  to  tremble  at  his 
quiet  action. 

"  Is  that  it  ?  "  and  he  handed  her  a  ruby  ring. 


A   SIMPLETON.  40' 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

Mrs.  Staines  uttered  a  sharp  cry  and  seized  the  ring. 
Her  eyes  dilated  over  it,  and  she  began  to  tremble  in 
every  limb ;  and  at  last  she  sank  slowly  back,  and  her 
head  fell  on  one  side  like  a  broken  lily.  The  sudden 
sight  of  the  ring  overpowered  her  almost  to  fainting. 

Falcon  rose  to  call  for  assistance  j  but  she  made  him  a 
feeble  motion  not  to  do  so. 

She  got  the  better  of  her  faintness,  and  then  she  fell 
to  kissing  the  ring,  in  an  agony  of  love,  and  wept  over 
it,  and  still  held  it,  and  gazed  at  it  through  her  blinding 
tears. 

Falcon  eyed  her  uneasily. 

But  he  soon  found  he  had  nothing  to  fear.  For  a  long 
time  she  seemed  scarcely  aware  of  his  presence ;  and 
when  she  noticed  him,  it  was  to  thank  him,  almost 
passionately. 

"  It  was  my  Christie  you  were  so  good  to  :  may  Heaven 
bless  you  for  it :  and  you  will  bring  me  his  letter,  will 
you  not  ?  " 

^'  Of  course  I  will." 

"  Oh,  do  not  go  yet.  It  is  all  so  strange :  so  sad.  I 
seem  to  have  lost  my  poor  Christie  again,  since  he  did 
not  die  at  sea.  But  no,  I  am  ungrateful  to  God,  and 
ungrateful  to  the  kind  friend  that  nursed  him  to  the  last. 
Ah,  I  envj  you  that.  Tell  me  all.  Xever  mind  my 
crying.  I  have  seen  the  time  I  could  not  cry.  It  was 
worse  then  than  now.  I  shall  always  cry  when  I  speak 
of  him,  ay,  to  my  dying  day.     Tell  me,  tell  me  all." 

Her  passion  frightened  the   egotist,  but  did  not  tui-n 


408  A  SIMPLETON. 

him.  He  had  gone  too  far.  He  told  her  that,  after 
raising  all  their  hopes,  Dr.  Staines  had  suddenly  changed 
for  the  worse,  and  sunk  rapidly;  that  his  last  words 
had  been  about  her,  and  he  had  said,  "  My  poor  Eosa, 
who  will  protect  her  ? ''  That,  to  comfort  him,  he  had 
said  he  would  protect  her.  Then  the  dying  man  had 
managed  to  write  a  line  or  two,  and  to  address  it.  Almost 
his  last  words  had  been,  "  Be  a  father  to  my  child." 

"  That  is  strange." 

"  You  have  no  child  ?  Then  it  must  have  been  you 
he  meant.     He  spoke  of  you  as  a  child  more  than  once." 

"  Mr.  Falcon,  I  have  a  child ;  but  born  since  I  lost  my 
poor  child's  father." 

"  Then  I  think  he  knew  it.  They  say  that  dying  men 
can  see  all  over  the  world:  and  I  remember,  when  he 
said  it,  his  eyes  seemed  fixed  very  strangely,  as  if  on 
something  distant.  Oh,  how  wonderful  all  this  is.  May 
I  see  his  child,  to  whom  I  promised  "  — 

The  artist  in  lies  left  his  sentence  half  completed. 

Eosa  rang,  and  sent  for  her  little  boy. 

Mr.  Falcon  admired  his  beauty,  and  said  quietly,  '^  I 
shall  keep  my  vow." 

He  then  left  her,  with  a  promise  to  come  back  early 
next  morning  with  the  letter. 

She  let  him  go  only  on  those  conditions. 

As  soon  as  her  father  came  in,  she  ran  to  him  with 
this  strange  story. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  said  he.     "  It  is  impossible." 

She  showed  him  the  proof,  the  ruby  ring. 

Then  he  became  very  uneasy,  and  begged  her  not  to 
tell  a  soul.  He  did  not  tell  her  the  reason,  but  he  feared 
the  insurance  office  would  hear  of  it,  and  require  proofs 
of  Christopher's  decease,  whereas  they  had  accepted  it 
without  a  murmur,  on  the  evidence  of  Captain  Hamilton 
and  the  Amphitrite's  log-book. 


A   SniPLETON.  409 

As  for  Falcon^  he  went  carefully  through  Staines's  two 
letters,  and  wherever  he  found  a  word  that  suited  his 
purpose,  he  traced  it  by  the  usual  process,  and  so,  in  the 
course  of  a  few  hours,  he  concocted  a  short  letter,  all 
the  words  in  which,  except  three,  were  facsimiles,  only 
here  and  there  a  little  shaky ;  the  three  odd  words  he 
had  to  imitate  by  observation  of  the  letters.  The  sig- 
nature he  got  to  perfection  by  tracing. 

He  inserted  this  letter  in  the  original  enveloi:)e,  and 
sealed  it  very  carefully,  so  as  to  hide  that  the  seal  had 
been  tampered  with. 

Thus  armed,  he  went  down  to  Gravesend.  There  he 
hired  a  horse  and  rode  to  Kent  Villa. 

"VVhy  he  hired  a  horse,  he  knew  how  hard  it  is  to 
forge  handwriting,  and  he  chose  to  have  the  means  of 
escape  at  hand. 

He  came  into  the  drawing-room,  ghastly  pale,  and 
almost  immediately  gave  her  the  letter ;  then  turned  his 
back,  feigning  delicacy.  In  reality  he  was  quaking  with 
fear  lest  she  should  suspect  the  handwriting.  But  the 
envelope  was  addressed  by  Staines,  and  paved  the  way 
for  the  letter  j  she  was  unsuspicious  and  good,  and  her 
heart  cried  out  for  her  husband's  last  written  words  :  at 
such  a  moment,  what  chance  had  judgment  and  suspicion 
in  an  innocent  and  loving  soul  ? 

Her  eloquent  sighs  and  sobs  soon  told  the  caitiff  he 
had  nothing  to  fear. 

The  letter  ran  thus  :  — 

My  own  Rosa,  — All  that  a  brother  could  do  for  a  beloved 
brother,  Falcon  has  done.  He  nursed  rae  night  and  day.  But 
it  is  vain.  1  shall  never  see  you  again  in  this  world.  I  send 
you  a  protector,  and  a  father  to  your  child.  Value  him.  He 
"has  promised  to  be  your  stay  on  earth,  and  my  spirit  shall 
watch  over  3'ou.  —  To  my  last  breath,  your  loving  husband, 

C'lUiiSTuruER  Staines. 


410  A  SIMPLETON. 

Falcon  rose,  and  began  to  steal  on  tiptoe  out  of  the 
room. 

Eosa  stopped  liim.  "You  need  not  go/'  said  she. 
"You  are  our  friend.  By  and  by  I  hope  I  shall  find 
words  to  thank  you." 

"  Pray  let  me  retire  a  moment,"  said  the  hypocrite. 
"A  husband's  last  words  :  too  sacred — a  stranger:  "  and 
he  went  out  into  the  garden.  There  he  found  the  nurse- 
maid Emily,  and  the  little  boy. 

He  stopped  the  child,  and  made  love  to  the  nursemaid ; 
showed  her  his  diamonds  —  he  carried  them  all  about 
him  —  told  her  he  had  thirty  thousand  acres  in  Cape 
Colony,  and  diamonds  on  them  ;  and  was  going  to  buy 
thirty  thousand  more  of  the  government.  "  Here,  take 
one,"  said  he.  "Oh,  you  needn't  be  shy.  They  are 
common  enough  on  my  estates.  I'll  tell  you  what, 
though,  you  could  not  buy  that  for  less  than  thirty 
pounds  at  any  shop  in  London.  Could  she,  my  little 
duck  ?  Never  mind,  it  is  no  brighter  than  her  eyes. 
Now  do  you  know  what  she  will  do  with  that.  Master 
Christie  ?  She  will  give  it  to  some  duffer  to  put  in  a 
pin." 

"  She  won't  do  nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  Emily, 
flushing  all  over.  "  She  is  not  such  a  fool."  She  then 
volunteered  to  tell  him  she  had  no  sweetheart,  and  did 
not  trouble  her  head  about  young  men  at  all.  He  inter- 
preted this  to  mean  she  was  looking  out  for  one.  So 
do  I. 

"  No  sweetheart !  "  said  he  ;  "  and  the  prettiest  girl  I 
have  seen  since  I  landed :  then  I  put  in  for  the  situation." 

Here,  seeing  the  footman  coming,  he  bestowed  a  most 
paternal  kiss  on  little  Christie,  and  saying,  "  Not  a  word 
to  John,  or  no  more  diamonds  from  me ;  "  he  moved 
carefully  away,  leaving  the  girl  all  in  a  flutter  with 
extravagant  hopes. 


A   SIMPLETON.  411 

The  next  moment  this  wolf  in  the  sheep-fohl  entered 
the  drawing-room.  Mrs.  Staines  was  not  there.  He 
waited,  and  waited,  and  began  to  get  rather  uneasy,  as 
men  will  who  walk  among  pitfalls. 

Tresently  the  footman  came  to  say  that  Mrs.  Staines 
was  with  her  father,  in  his  study,  but  she  would  come  to 
him  in  five  minutes. 

This  increased  his  anxiety.  What !  She  was  taking 
advice  of  an  older  head.  He  began  to  be  very  seriously 
alarmed,  and,  indeed,  had  pretty  well  made  up  his  mind 
to  go  down  and  gallop  off,  when  the  door  opened,  and 
Rosa  came  hastily  in.  Her  eyes  were  very  red  with 
weeping.  She  canie  to  him  with  both  hands  extended  to 
him;  he  gave  her  his,  timidly.  She  pressed  them  with 
such  earnestness  and  power  as  he  could  not  have  sus- 
pected ;  and  thanked  him,  and  blessed  him,  with  such  a 
torrent  of  eloquence,  that  he  hung  his  head  with  shame ; 
and,  being  unable  to  face  it  out,  villain  as  he  was,  yet 
still  artful  to  the  core,  he  pretended  to  burst  out  crying, 
and  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  rode  away. 

He  waited  two  days,  and  then  called  again.  Rosa 
reproached  him  sweetly  for  going  before  she  had  half 
thanked  him. 

"All  the  better,*'  said  he.  "I  have  been  thanked  a 
great  deal  too  much  already.  Who  would  not  do  his  best 
for  a  dying  countryman,  and  fight  night  and  day  to  save 
him  for  his  wife  and  child  at  home  ?  If  I  had  succeeded, 
then  I  would  be  greedy  of  praise  :  but  now  it  makes  me 
blush ;  it  makes  me  very  sad." 

"  You  did  your  best,"  said  Rosa  tearfully. 

"  Ah  !  that  I  did.  Indeed,  I  was  ill  for  weeks  after, 
myself,  through  the  strain  upon  my  mind,  and  the  dis- 
appointment, and  going  so  many  nights  without  sleep. 
But  don't  let  us  talk  of  that." 

"  Do  you  know  what  my  darling  says  to  me  in  my 
letter  ?  " 


412  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  it  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  should  ;  but  I  have  no  right." 

"Every  right.  It  is  the  only  mark  of  esteem,  worth 
anything,  I  can  show  you." 

She  handed  him  the  letter,  and  buried  her  own  face  in 
her  hands. 

He  read  it,  and  acted  the  deepest  emotion. 

He  handed  it  back,  without  a  word. 


A  SIMPLETON.  413 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

From  this  time  Falcon  was  always  welcome  at  Kent 
Villa.  He  fascinated  everybody  in  the  house.  He 
renewed  his  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Lusignan,  and  got 
asked  to  stay  a  week  in  the  house.  He  showed  Rosa 
and  her  father  the  diamonds,  and,  the  truth  must  be 
o^^^■led,  they  made  Rosa's  eyes  sparkle  for  the  first  time 
this  eighteen  months.  He  insinuated  rather  than  declared 
his  enormous  wealth. 

In  reply  to  the  old  man's  eager  questions,  as  the  large 
diamonds  lay  glittering  on  the  table,  and  pointed  every 
word,  he  said  that  a  few  of  his  Hottentots  had  found 
these  for  him ;  he  had  made  them  dig  on  a  diamondifer- 
ous  jjart  of  his  estate,  just  by  way  of  testing  the  matter ; 
and  this  was  the  result ;  this,  and  a  much  larger  stone, 
for  which  he  had  received  eight  thousand  pounds  from 
Posno. 

"  If  I  was  a  young  man,"  said  Lusignan,  "  I  would  go 
out  directly,  and  dig  on  your  estate." 

"  I  would  not  let  you  do  anything  so  paltry,"  said  "  le 
Menteur."  "  Why,  my  dear  sir,  there  are  no  fortunes  to 
be  made  by  grubbing  for  diamonds  ;  the  fortunes  are 
made  out  of  the  diamonds,  but  not  in  that  way.  Now, 
I  have  thirty  thousand  acres,  and  am  just  concluding  a 
bargain  for  thirty  thousand  more,  on  which  I  happen  to 
know  there  are  diamonds  in  a  sly  corner.  Well,  of  my 
thirty  thousand  tried  acres,  a  hundred  only  are  diamond- 
iferous.  P)Ut  I  have  four  thousand  thirtj^-foot  claims, 
leased  at  ten  shillings  per  month.     Count  that  up." 

"  Why,  it  is  twenty-four  thousand  pounds  a  year." 


414  A   SBIPLETON. 

"  Excuse  me :  you  must  deduct  a  thousand  a  year  for 
the  expenses  of  collection.  But  this  is  only  one  phase 
of  the  business.  I  have  a  large  inn  upon  each  of  the 
three  great  routes  from  the  diamonds  to  the  coast ;  and 
these  imis  are  supplied  with  the  produce  of  my  own 
farms.  Mark  the  effect  of  the  diamonds  on  property. 
My  sixty  thousand  acres,  which  are  not  diamondiferous, 
will  very  soon  be  worth  as  much  as  sixty  thousand  Eng- 
lish acres,  say  two  pounds  the  acre  per  annum.  That  is 
under  the  mark,  because  in  Africa  the  land  is  not  Ijur- 
dened  with  poor-rates,  tithes,  and  all  the  other  iniquities 
that  crush  the  English  land-OTVTier,  as  I  know  to  my  cost. 
But  that  is  not  all,  sir.  Would  you  believe  it  ?  even 
after  the  diamonds  were  declared,  the  people  out  there 
had  so  little  foresight  that  they  allowed  me  to  buy  land 
all  round  Port  Elizabeth,  Natal,  and  Cape  Toa\ti,  the 
three  ports  tlirough  which  the  world  get  at  the  diamonds, 
and  the  diamonds  get  at  the  world.  I  have  got  a  girdle 
of  land  round  those  three  outlets,  bought  by  the  acre  ;  in 
two  years  I  shall  sell  it  by  the  yard.  Believe  me,  sir, 
English  fortunes,  even  the  largest,  are  mere  child's  play, 
compared  \\'ith  the  colossal  wealth  a  man  can  accumulate, 
if  he  looks  beyond  these  great  discoveries  to  their  conse- 
quences, and  lets  others  grub  for  him.  But  what  is  the 
use  of  it  all  to  me  ?  "  said  this  Bohemian,  with  a  sigh. 
"I  have  no  taste  for  luxuries;  no  love  of  display.  I 
have  not  even  charity  to  dispense  on  a  large  scale ;  for 
there  are  no  deserving  poor  out  there ;  and  the  poverty 
that  springs  from  vice,  that  I  never  will  encourage." 

John  heard  nearly  all  this,  and  took  it  into  the 
kitchen ;  and  henceforth  Adoration  was  the  only  word 
for  this  prince  of  men,  this  rare  combination  of  tlie 
Adonis  and  tlie  millionnaire. 

He  seldom  held  such  discourses  before  Eosa;  but 
talked  her  father  into  an  impression  of  his  boundless 


A    SIMPLETON.  415 

wealth,  and  lialf  reconciled  liini  to  Kosa's  refusal  of 
Lord  Tadcaster,  since  here  was  an  old  suitor,  who,  doul)t- 
less,  with  a  little  encouragement,  would  soon  come  on 
again. 

Under  this  impression,  Mr.  Lusignan  gave  Falcon  more 
than  a  little  encouragement,  and,  as  Kosa  did  not  resist, 
he  became  a  constant  visitor  at  the  villa,  and  was  always 
there  from  Saturday  to  Monday. 

He  exerted  all  his  art  of  pleasing,  and  he  succeeded. 
He  was  welcome  to  Rosa,  and  she  made  no  secret  of  it. 

Emily  threw  herself  in  his  way,  and  had  many  a  sly 
talk  with  him,  while  he  was  pretending  to  be  engaged 
with  young  Christie.  He  flattered  her,  and  made  her 
sweet  on  him,  but  was  too  much  in  love  with  Rosa,  after 
his  fashion,  to  flirt  seriously  with  her.  He  thought  he 
mi  gilt  want  her  services :  so  he  worked  upon  her  after 
this  fashion  ;  asked  her  if  she  would  like  to  keep  an  inn. 

"  Wouldn't  I  just  ?  "  said  she  frankly. 

Then  he  told  her  that,  if  all  went  to  his  wish  in 
England,  she  should  be  landlady  of  one  of  his  inns  in 
the  Cape  Colony.  "And  you  will  get  a  good  husband 
out  there  directly,"  said  he.  "  Beauty  is  a  very  uncom- 
mon thing  in  those  parts.  But  I  shall  ask  you  to  marry 
somebody  who  can  help  you  in  the  business  —  or  not  to 
marry  at  all." 

"  I  wish  I  had  the  inn,"  said  Emily.  "  Husbands  are 
soon  got  when  a  girl  hasn't  her  face  only  to  look  to." 

"Well,  I  promise  you  the  inn,"  said  he,  "and  a  good 
outfit  of  clothes,  and  money  in  both  pockets,  if  you  will 
do  me  a  good  turn  here  in  England." 

"  That  I  would,  sir.  But,  laws,  what  can  a  poor  girl 
like  me  do  for  a  rich  gentleman  like  you  ?  " 

"  Can  you  keep  a  secret,  Emily  ?  '^ 

"  Nobody  better.     You  try  me,  sir." 

He  looked  at  her  well  j  saw  she  was  one  of  those  who 


416  A   SIMPLETON. 

could  keep  a  secret;  if  slie  chose,  and  lie  resolved  to  risk 
it. 

"Emily,  my  girl,"  said  lie  sadly,  "I  am  an  uiihappy 
man." 

"  You,  sir  !     Why,  you  didn't  ought  to  be." 

"  I  am  then.     I  am  in  love ;  and  cannot  win  her." 

Then  he  told  the  girl  a  pretty  tender  tale,  that  he  had 
loved  Mrs.  Staines  when  she  was  Miss  Lusignan,  had 
thought  himself  beloved  in  turn,  but  was  rejected;  and 
now,  though  she  was  a  widow,  he  had  not  the  courage  to 
court  her,  her  heart  was  in  the  grave.  He  spoke  in  such 
a  broken  voice  that  the  girl's  good-nature  fought  agaiiist 
her  little  pique  at  finding  how  little  he  was  smitten 
with  lier,  and  Falcon  soon  found  means  to  array  Ler 
cupidity  on  the  side  of  her  good-nature.  He  gave  Ler 
a  five-pound  note  to  buy  gloves,  and  promised  hei  a 
fortune,  and  she  undertook  to  be  secret  as  the  grav^e, 
and  say  certain  things  adroitly  to  Mrs.  Staines. 

Accordingly,  this  young  woman  omitted  no  opportuniity 
of  dropping  a  word  in  favor  of  Falcon.  For  one  thing, 
she  said  to  Mrs.  Staines,  "  Mr.  Falcon  must  be  very  fond 
of  children,  ma'am.    Why,  he  worships  Master  Christie." 

"  Indeed !     I  have  not  observed  that." 

"  Why,  no,  ma'am.  He  is  rather  shy  over  it ;  but 
when  he  sees  us  alone,  he  is  sure  to  come  to  us,  and  say, 
*  Let  me  look  at  my  child,  nurse  ; '  and  he  do  seem  fit  to 
eat  him.  Oust  he  says  to  me,  '  This  boy  is  my  heir, 
nurse.'     What  did  he  mean  by  that,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  I  don't  knoAv." 

"  Is  he  any  kin  to  you,  ma'am  ?  '^ 

"None  whatever.  You  must  have  misunderstood  him. 
You  should  not  repeat  all  that  people  say." 

"No,  ma'am  ;  only  I  did  think  it  so  odd.  Poor  gentle- 
man, I  don't  think  he  is  happy,  for  all  his  money." 

"  He  is  too  good  to  be  unhappy  all  his  life." 


A  SIMPLETON.  417 

«  So  I  think,  ma'am." 

These  conversations  wer<3  always  short,  for  Kosa, 
though  she  was  too  kind  and  gentle  to  snub  the  girl, 
was  also  too  delicate  to  give  the  least  encouragement  to 
her  gossip. 

But  Rosa's  was  a  mind  that  could  be  worked  upon, 
and  these  short  but  repeated  eulogies  were  not  altogether 
without  effect. 

At  last  the  insidious  Falcon,  by  not  making  his 
approaches  in  a  way  to  alarm  her,  acquired  her  friend- 
ship as  well  as  her  gratitude  ;  and,  in  short,  she  got  used 
to  him  and  liked  him.  Not  being  bound  by  any  limit 
of  fact  whatever,  he  entertained  her,  and  took  her  out  of 
herself  a  little  by  extemporaneous  pictures  ;  he  told  her 
all  his  thrilling  adventures  by  flood  and  field,  not  one  of 
which  had  ever  occurred,  yet  he  made  them*  all  sound 
like  truth  ;  he  invented  strange  characters,  and  set  them 
talking ;  he  went  after  great  Avhales,  and  harpooned  one, 
whicl\  slapped  his  boat  into  fragments  with  one  stroke 
of  its  tail ;  then  died,  and  he  hung  on  by  the  harpoon 
protruding  from  the  carcass  till  a  ship  came  and  picked 
him  up.  He  shot  a  lion  that  was  carrying  off  his  favorite 
Hottentot.  He  encountered  another,  wounded  him  with 
both  barrels,  was  seized,  and  dragged  along  the  ground, 
and  gave  himself  up  for  lost,  but  kept  firing  his  revolver 
down  the  monster's  throat  till  at  last  he  sickened  him, 
and  so  escaped  out  of  death's  maw  ;  he  did  not  say  how 
he  had  fired  in  the  air,  and  ridden  fourteen  miles  on  end, 
at  the  bare  sight  of  a  lion's  cub ;  but,  to  compensate  that 
one  reserve,  plunged  into  a  raging  torrent  and  saved  a 
drowning  woman  by  her  long  hair,  which  he  caught  in 
his  teeth ;  he  rode  a  race  on  an  ostrich  against  a  friend 
on  a  zebra,  which  went  faster,  but  threw  his  rider,  and 
screamed  with  rage  at  not  being  able  to  eat  him  ;  he. 
Falcon,  having  declined  to  run  unless  his  friend's  zebra 


418  A   SIMPLETON. 

was  muzzled.  He  fed  the  hungry,  clothed  the  naked, 
and  shot  a  wild  elephant  in  the  eye ;  and  all  this  he 
enlivened  with  pictorial  descriptions  of  no  mean  beauty, 
and  as  like  South  Africa  as  if  it  had  been  feu  George 
Eobins  advertising  that  continent  for  sale. 

In  short,  never  was  there  a  more  voluble  and  interest- 
ing liar  by  Avord  of  mouth,  and  never  was  there  a  more 
agreeable  creature  interposed  between  a  bereaved  widow 
and  her  daily  grief  and  regrets.  He  diverted  her  mind 
from  herself,  and  did  her  good. 

At  last,  such  was  the  charm  of  infinite  lying,  she 
missed  him  on  the  days  he  did  not  come,  and  was 
brighter  when  he  did  come  and  lie. 

Things  went  smoothly,  and  so  pleasantly,  that  he 
would  gladly  have  prolonged  this  form  of  courtship  for 
a  month  or  two  longer,  sooner  than  risk  a  premature 
declaration.  But  more  than  one  cause  drove  him  to  a 
bolder  course ;  his  passion,  which  increased  in  violence 
by  contact  with  its  beautiful  object,  and  also  a  great 
uneasiness  he  felt  at  not  hearing  from  Phoebe.  This 
silence  was  ominous.  He  and  she  knew  each  other, 
and  what  the  other  was  capable  of.  He  knew  she  was 
the  woman  to  cross  the  seas  after  him,  if  Staines  left  the 
diggings,  and  any  explanation  took  place  that  might 
point  to  his  whereabouts. 

These  double  causes  precipitated  matters,  and  at  last 
he  began  to  throw  more  devotion  into  his  manner ;  and 
having  so  prepared  her  for  a  few  days,  he  took  his  oppor- 
tunity and  said,  one  day,  "  We  are  both  unhappy.  Give 
me  the  right  to  console  you." 

She  colored  high,  and  said,  ''You  have  consoled  me 
more  than  all  the  world.  But  there  is  a  limit ;  always 
will  be." 

One  less  adroit  would  have  brought  her  to  the  point ; 
but  this  artist  only  sighed,  and  let  the  arrow  rankle.    By 


A    SIMPLETON.  4lU 

this  means  lie  out-fenced  her;  for  now  she  had  listened 
to  a  declaration  and  not  stopped  it  short. 

He  played  melancholy  for  a  day  or  two,  and  then  he 
tried  her  another  way.  He  said,  "  I  promised  your  dying 
husband  to  be  your  protector,  and  a  father  to  his  child. 
I  see  but  one  way  to  keep  my  word,  and  that  gives  me 
courage  to  speak  —  without  that  I  never  could.  Rosa, 
I  loved  you  years  ago,  I  am  unmarried  for  your  sake. 
Let  me  be  your  husband,  and  a  father  to  your  child." 

Rosa  shook  her  head.  "  I.  could  not  marry  again.  I 
esteem  you,  I  am  very  grateful  to  you :  and  I  know  I 
behaved  ill  to  you  before.  If  I  could  marry  again,  it 
would  be  you.     But  I  cannot.     Oh,  never  !  never  ! " 

"  Then  we  both  are  to  be  unhappy  all  our  days." 

"  I  shall,  as  I  ought  to  be.  You  will  not,  I  hope.  I 
shall  miss  you  sadly ;  but,  for  all  that,  I  advise  you  to 
leave  me.  You  will  carry  my  everlasting  gratitude,  go 
where  you  will ;  that  and  my  esteem  are  all  I  have  to 
give." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  he ;  "  and  I  hope  he  who  is  gone  will 
forgive  my  want  of  courage." 

"He  who  is  gone  took  my  promise  never  to  marry 
again." 

"  Dying  men  see  clearer.  I  am  sure  he  wished  —  no 
matter ;  it  is  too  delicate."  He  kissed  her  hand  and 
Avent  out,  a  picture  of  dejection. 

Mrs.  Staines  shed  a  tear  for  him. 

Nothing  was  heard  of  him  for  several  days  ;  and  Rosa 
pitied  him  more  and  more,  and  felt  a  certain  discontent 
with  herself,  and  doubt  whether  she  had  done  right. 

Matters  were  in  this  state,  when  one  morning  Emily 
came  screaming  in  from  the  garden,  "  The  child !  — 
Master  Christie  !  —  Where  is  he  ?  —  Where  is  he  ?  " 

The  house  was  ala,rmed.  The  garden  searched,  the 
adjoining  paddock.     The  child  was  gone. 


420  A   SIMI'LETON. 

Emily  was  examined,  and  owned,  with  many  sobs  and 
hysterical  cries,  that  she  had  put  him  down  in  the  sum- 
mer-house for  a  minute,  while  she  went  to  ask  the  gardener 
for  some  balm,  balm  tea  being  a  favorite  drink  of  hers. 
^'  But  there  was  nobody  near  that  I  saw,"  she  sobbed. 

Further  inquiry  proved,  however,  that  a  tall  gypsy 
woman  had  been  seen  prowling  about  that  morning ;  and 
suspicion  instantly  fastened  on  her.  Servants  were  sent 
out  right  and  left;  but  nothing  discovered;  and  the 
agonized  mother,  terrified  out  of  her  wits,  had  Falcon 
telegraphed  to  immediately. 

He  came  galloping  down  that  very  evening,  and  heard 
the  story.  He  galloped  into  Gravesend,  and  after  seeing 
the  police,  sent  word  out  he  should  advertise.  He 
placarded  Gravesend  Avitli  bills,  offering  a  reward  of 
a  thousand  pounds,  the  child  to  be  brought  to  him,  and 
no  questions  asked. 

Meantime  the  police  and  many  of  the  neighboring 
gentry  came  about  the  miserable  mother  with  their 
vague  ideas. 

Down  comes  Falcon  again  next  day ;  tells  what  he 
has  done,  and  treats  them  all  with  contempt.  "  Don't 
you  be  afraid,  Mrs.  Staines,"  said  he.  ''  You  will  get 
him  back.  I  have  taken  the  sure  way.  This  sort  of 
rogues  dare  not  go  near  the  police,  and  the  police  can't 
find  them.  You  have  no  enemies ;  it  is  only  some 
woman  that  has  fancied  a  beautiful  child.  Well,  she 
can  have  them  by  the  score,  for  a  thousand  pounds." 

He  was  the  only  one  with  a  real  idea ;  the  woman  saw 
it,  and  clung  to  him.     He  left  late  at  night. 

Next  morning  out  came  the  advertisements,  and  he 
sent  her  a  handful  by  special  messenger.  His  zeal  and 
activity  kept  her  bereaved  heart  from  utter  despair. 

At  eleven  that  night  came  a  telegraph :  — 

"  I  have  got  him.     Coming  down  by  special  train." 


A  SIMPLETON.  421 

Then  what  a  burst  of  joy  and  gratitude!  The  very 
walls  of  the  house  seemed  to  ring  with  it  as  a  harp  rings 
with  music.  A  special  train,  too !  he  would  not  let  the 
mother  yearn  all  night. 

At  one  in  the  morning  he  drove  up  with  the  child  and 
a  hired  nurse. 

Imagine  the  scene !  The  mother's  screams  of  joy, 
her  furious  kisses,  her  cooing,  her  tears,  and  all  the 
miracles  of  nature  at  such  a  time.  The  servants  all 
mingled  Avith  their  employers  in  the  general  rapture, 
and  Emily,  who  was  pale  as  death,  cried  and  sobbed,  and 
said,  "Oh,  ma'am,  I'll  never  let  him  out  of  my  sight 
again,  no,  not  for  one  minute."  Falcon  made  her  a 
signal,  and  went  out.     She  met  him  in  the  garden. 

She  was  much  agitated,  and  cried,  "  Oh,  you  did  well 
to  bring  him  to-day.  I  could  not  have  kept  it  another 
hour.     I'm  a  wretch." 

"  You  are  a  good  kind  girl ;  and  here's  the  fifty  pounds 
I  promised  you." 

"  Well,  and  I  have  earned  it." 

"  Of  course  you  have.  Meet  me  in  the  garden  to-morrow 
morning,  and  I'll  show  you  you  have  done  a  kind  thing 
to  your  mistress,  as  well  as  me.  And  as  for  the  fifty 
pounds,  that  is  nothinrj ;  do  you  hear  ?  it  is  nothing  at 
all,  compared  with  what  I  will  do  for  you,  if  you  will  be 
true  to  me,  and  hold  your  tongue." 

"  Oh !  as  for  that,  my  tongue  shan't  betray  you,  nor 
shame  me.  You  are  a  gentleman,  and  I  do  think  you  love 
her,  or  I  would  not  help  you." 

So  she  salved  her  nursemaid's  conscience  —  with  the 
help  of  the  fifty  pounds. 

The  mother  was  left  to  her  rapture  that  night.  In  the 
morning  Falcon  told  his  tale. 

"At  two  P.M.  a  man  had  called  on  him,  and  had  pro- 
duced one  of  his  advertisements,  and  had  asked  him  if 


422  A  SIMPLETON. 

tliat  was  all  square  —  no  bobbies  on  the  lurk.  ^All 
square,  my  fine  fellow.'  'Well/  said  he,  'I  suppose  you 
are  a  gentleman.'  'I  am  of  that  opinion  too.'  '  Well,  sir,' 
says  he,  '  I  know  a  party  as  has  found  a  young  gent  as 
comes  werry  nigh  your  advertisement.'  'It  will  be  a 
very  lucky  find  to  that  party,'  I  said,  'if  he  is  on  the 
square.'  'Oli,  ^ve  are  always  on  the  square,  when  the 
blunt  is  put  down.'  '  The  blunt  for  the  child,  when  you 
like,  and  where  you  like,'  said  I.  'You  are  the  right 
sort,'  said  he.  'I  am,'  replied  I.  'Will  you  come  and 
see  if  it  is  all  right  ? '  said  he.  '  In  a  minute,'  said  I. 
Stepped  into  my  bedroom,  and  loaded  my  six-shooter." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  said  Lusignan. 

"  A  revolver  with  six  barrels :  by  the  by,  the  very  same 
I  killed  the  lion  with.  Ugh !  I  never  think  of  that  scene 
without  feeling  a  little  quiver ;  and  my  nerves  are  pretty 
good,  too.  Well,  he  took  me  into  an  awful  part  of  the 
town,  down  a  filthy  close,  into  some  boozing  ken  —  I  beg 
pardon,  some  thieves'  public-house." 

"Oh,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Eosa,  "were  you  not 
frightened  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  the  truth,  or  play  the  hero  ?  I  think 
I'll  tell  you  the  truth.  I  felt  a  little  frightened,  lest  they 
should  get  my  money  and  my  life,  without  my  getting 
my  godson:  that  is  what  I  call  him  now.  Well,  two 
ugly  dogs  came  in,  and  said,  'Let  us  see  the  flimsies, 
before  you  see  the  kid.' 

"'That  is  rather  sharp  practice,  I  think,'  said  I;  'how- 
ever, here's  the  swag,  and  here's  tlie  watch-dog.'  So  I 
put  down  the  notes,  and  my  hand  over  them  witli  my 
revolver  cocked,  and  ready  to  fire." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Eosa  pantingly.  "Ah,  you  were  a 
match  for  them." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Staines,  if  I  was  writing  you  a  novel,  I 
suppose  I  should  tell  you  the  rogues  recoiled}  but  the 


A   SIMPLETON.  423 

truth  is  they  only  laughed,  aud  were  quite  ph-ascd. 
'  Swell's  in  earnest/  said  one,  '  Jem,  show  the  kid.'  Jeui 
whistled,  and  in  came  a  great  tall  black  gypsy  woman, 
with  the  darling.  My  heart  was  in  my  mouth,  but  I 
would  not  let  them  see  it.  I  said, 'It  is  all  right.  Take 
half  the  notes  here,  and  half  at  the  door.'  They  agreed, 
and  then  I  did  it  quick,  walked  to  the  door,  took  the 
child,  gave  them  the  odd  notes,  and  made  off  as  fast  as 
I  could,  hired  a  nurse  at  the  hospital  —  and  the  rest  you 
know." 

"Papa,"  said  Eosa,  with  enthusiasm,  "there  is  but  one 
man  in  England  who  would  have  got  me  back  my  child, 
and  this  is  he." 

When  they  were  alone,  Falcon  told  her  she  had  said 
words  that  gladdened  his  very  heart.  "You  admit  I  can 
carry  out  one  half  of  his  wishes  ?  "  said  he. 

Mrs.  Staines  said  "  Yes,"  then  colored  high ;  then,  to 
turn  it  off,  said,  "But  I  cannot  allow  you  to  lose  that 
large  sum  of  money.     You  must  let  me  repay  you." 

"  Large  sum  of  money  ! "  said  he.  "  It  is  no  more  to 
me  than  sixpence  to  most  people.  I  don't  know  what  to 
do  with  my  money ;  and  I  never  shall  know,  unless  you 
Avill  make  a  sacrifice  of  your  own  feelings  to  the  wishes 
of  the  dead.  O  Mrs.  Staines  —  Eosa,  do  pray  consider 
that  a  man  of  that  wisdom  sees  the  future,  and  gives 
wise  advice.  Sure  am  I  that,  if  you  could  overcome  your 
natural  repugnance  to  a  second  marriage,  it  would  be  the 
best  thing  for  your  little  boy  —  I  love  him  already  as  if 
he  were  my  own  —  and  in  time  would  bring  you  peace 
and  comfort,  and  some  day,  years  hence,  even  happiness. 
You  are  my  only  love ;  yet  I  should  never  have  come  to 
you  again  if  he  had  not  sent  me.  Do  consider  how 
strange  it  all  is,  and  what  it  points  to,  and  don't  let  me 
have  the  misery  of  losing  you  again,  when  you  can  do  no 
better  now,  alas  !  than  reward  my  fidelity." 


424  A   SIMPLETON. 

She  was  much  moved  at  this  artful  api^eal,  and  said, 
"  If  I  was  sure  I  was  obeying  his  wilL  But  how  can  I 
feel  that,  when  we  both  promised  never  to  wed  again  ?  " 

"  A  man's  dying  words  are  more  sacred  than  any  other. 
You  have  his  letter." 

"  Yes,  but  he  does  not  say  '  marry  again.' " 

"  That  is  what  he  meant,  though." 

"  How  can  you  say  that  ?     How  can  you  know  ?  " 

"  Because  I  put  the  words  he  said  to  me  together  with 
that  short  line  to  you.  Mind,  I  don't  say  that  he  did  not 
exaggerate  my  poor  merits ;  on  the  contrary,  I  think  he 
did.  But  I  declare  to  you  that  he  did  hope  I  should 
take  care  of  you  and  your  child.  Eight  or  wrong,  it  was 
his  wish,  so  pray  do  not  deceive  yourself  on  that  point." 

This  made  more  impression  on  her  than  anything  else 
he  could  say,  and  she  said,  "  I  promise  you  one  thing,  I 
will  never  marry  any  man  but  you." 

Instead  of  pressing  her  further,  as  an  inferior  artist 
would,  he  broke  into  raptures,  kissed  her  hand  tenderly, 
and  was  in  such  high  spirits,  and  so  voluble  all  day,  that 
she  smiled  sweetly  on  him,  and  thought  to  herself,  '^Poor 
soul !  how  happy  I  could  make  him  with  a  word ! " 

As  he  was  always  watching  her  face  —  a  practice  he 
carried  further  than  any  person  living  —  he  divined  that 
sentiment,  and  wrought  upon  it  so,  that  at  last  he 
tormented  her  into  saying  she  would  marry  him  some 
day. 

When  he  had  brought  her  to  that,  he  raged  inwardly 
to  think  he  had  not  two  years  to  work  in;  for  it  was  evi- 
dent she  would  marry  him  in  time.  But  no,  it  had  taken 
him  more  than  four  months,  close  siege,  to  bring  her  to 
that.  No  word  from  Phoebe.  An  ominous  dread  hung 
over  his  own  soul.  His  wife  would  be  upon  him,  or, 
worse  still,  her  brother  Dick,  who  he  knew  would  beat 
him  to  a  mummy  on  the  spot ;  or,  worst  of  all,  the  hus- 


A  SIMPLETON.  425 

band  of  Rosa  Staines,  who  would  kill  liim,  or  fling  liini 
into  a  prison.     He  Tmist  make  a  push. 

In  this  emergency  he  used  his  ally,  Mr.  Lusignan ;  he 
told  him  ^Irs.  Staines  had  promised  to  marry  him,  but 
at  some  distant  date.  This  would  not  do ;  he  must  look 
after  his  enormous  interests  in  the  colony,  and  he  was  so 
much  in  love  he  could  not  leave  her. 

The  old  gentleman  was  desperately  fond  of  Falcon,  and 
bent  on  the  match,  and  he  actually  consented  to  give  his 
daughter  what  Falcon  called  a  little  push. 

The  little  push  was  a  very  great  one,  I  think. 

It  consisted  in  directing  the  clergyman  to  call  in 
church  the  banns  of  marriage  between  Reginald  Falcon 
and  Rosa  Staines. 

They  were  both  in  church  together  when  this  was 
done.  Rosa  all  but  screamed,  and  then  turned  red  as 
fire  and  white  as  a  ghost,  by  turns.  She  never  stood  up 
again  all  the  service ;  and  in  going  home  refused  Falcon's 
arm,  and  walked  swiftly  home  by  herself.  JSTot  that  she 
had  the  slightest  intention  of  passing  this  monstrous 
tiling  by  in  silence.  On  the  contrary,  her  wrath  was 
boiling  over,  and  so  hot  that  she  knew  she  should  make 
a  scene  in  the  street  if  she  said  a  word  there. 

Once  inside  the  house  she  turned  on  Falcon,  with  a 
white  cheek  and  a  flashing  eye,  and  said,  "Follow  me,  sir, 
if  you  please."  She  led  the  way  to  her  father's  study. 
"  Papa,"  said  she,  "  I  throv,^  myself  on  your  protection. 
Mr.  Falcon  has  affronted  me." 

"  Oh,  Rosa !  "  cried  Falcon,  affecting  utter  dismay. 

"Publicly  —  publicly:  he  has  had  the  banns  of  mar- 
riage cried  in  the  church,  without  my  permission." 

"  Don't  raise  your  voice  so  loud,  child.  All  the  house 
will  hear  you." 

"  I  choose  all  the  house  to  hear  me.  I  will  not  endure 
it.     I  will  never  marry  you  now —  never !  " 


426  A  SIMPLETON. 

"  Eosa,  my  child/'  said  Lusignan,  "  you  need  not  scold 
poor  Falcon,  for  I  am  the  ciilj)rit.  It  was  I  who  ordered 
the  banns  to  be  cried." 

"  Oh !  papa,  you  had  no  right  to  do  such  a  thing  as 
that." 

"I  think  I  had.  I  exercised  parental  authority  for 
once,  and  for  your  good,  and  for  the  good  of  a  true  and 
faithful  lover  of  yours,  whom  you  jilted  once,  and  now 
you  trifle  with  his  affection  and  his  interests.  He  loves 
you  too  well  to  leave  you ;  yet  you  know  his  vast  estates 
iind  interests  require  supervision." 

"  That  for  his  vast  estates  !  "  said  Eosa  contemptu- 
ously. "I  am  not  to  be  driven  to  the  altar  like  this, 
when  my  heart  is  in  the  grave.  Don't  you  do  it  again, 
paj^a,  or  I'll  get  up  and  forbid  the  banns ;  affront  for 
affront." 

"I  should  like  to  see  that,"  said  the  old  gentleman 
dryly. 

Eosa  vouchsafed  no  reply,  but  swept  out  of  the  room, 
with  burning  cheeks  and  glittering  eyes,  and  was  not 
seen  all  day,  would  not  dine  with  them,  in  S2:)ite  of  three 
humble,  deprecating  notes  Falcon  sent  her. 

"Let  the  spiteful  cat  alone,"  said  old  Lusignan.  "You 
and  I  will  dine  together  in  peace  and  quiet." 

It  was  a  dull  dinner;  but  Falcon  took  advantage  of 
the  opportunity,  impregnated  the  father  with  his  views, 
and  got  him  to  promise  to  have  the  banns  cried  next 
Sunday.     He  consented. 

Eosa  learned  next  Sunday  morning  that  this  was  to  be 
done,  and  her  courage  failed  her.  She  did  not  go  to 
church  at  all. 

She  cried  a  great  deal,  and  submitted  to  violence,  as 
your  true  women  are  too  apt  to  do.  They  had  compro- 
mised her,  and  so  conquered  her.  The  permanent 
feelings  of  gratitude  and  esteem  caused  a  reaction  after 


A   SIMPLETON.  427 

her  imssion,  and  she  gave  up  open  resistance  as  hope- 
less. 

Falcon  renewed  his  visits,  and  was  received  with  the 
mere  sullen  languor  of  a  woman  who  has  given  in. 

The  banns  were  cried  a  third  time. 

Then  the  patient  Rosa  bought  laudanum  enough  to 
reunite  her  to  her  Christopher,  in  spite  of  them  all; 
and  having  provided  herself  with  this  resource,  became 
more  cheerful,  and  even  kind  and  caressing. 

She  declined  to  name  the  day  at  present,  and  that  was 
awkward.  Nevertheless  the  conspirators  felt  sure  they 
should  tire  her  out  into  doing  that,  before  long ;  for  they 
saw  their  way  clear,  and  she  was  perplexed  in  the 
extreme. 

In  her  perplexity,  she  used  to  talk  to  a  certain  beauti- 
ful star  she  called  her  Christopher.  She  loved  to  fancy 
he  was  now  an  inhabitant  of  that  bright  star ;  and  often 
on  a  clear  night  she  would  look  up,  and  beg  for  guidance 
from  this  star.  This  I  consider  foolish :  but  then  I  am 
old  and  scejjtical ;  she  was  still  young  and  innocent,  and 
sorely  puzzled  to  know  her  husband's  real  will. 

I  don't  suppose  the  star  had  anything  to  do  with  it, 
except  as  a  focus  of  her  thoughts ;  but  one  fine  night, 
after  a  long  inspection  of  Christox)her's  star,  she  dreamed 
a  dream.  She  thought  that  a  lovely  wedding-dress  hung 
over  a  chair,  that  a  crown  of  diamonds  as  large  as  almonds 
sparkled  ready  for  her  on  the  dressing-table,  and  she 
was  undoing  her  black  gown,  and  about  to  take  it  off, 
when  suddenly  the  diamonds  began  to  pale,  and  the 
white  satin  dress  to  melt  away,  and  in  its  ylnce  there 
rose  a  pale  face  and  a  long  beard,  and  Christopher  Staines 
stood  before  her,  and  said  quietly,  "Is  this  how  you 
keep  your  voav  ?  "  Then  he  sank  slowly,  and  the  white 
dress  was  black,  and  the  diamonds  were  jet ;  and  she 
awoke,  with  his  gentle  words  of  remonstrance  and  his 
very  tones  ringing  in  her  ear. 


428  A   SIMPLETON. 

This  dream,  co-operating  with  her  previous  agitation 
and  misgivings,  shook  her  very  much ;  she  did  not  come 
down-stairs  till  near  dinner-time ;  and  both  her  father 
and  Falcon,  who  came  as  a  matter  of  course  to  spend 
his  Sunday,  were  struck  with  her  appearance.  She  was 
pale,  gloomy,  morose,  and  had  an  air  of  desperation 
about  her. 

Falcon  would  not  see  it ;  he  knew  that  it  is  safest  to 
let  her  sex  alone  when  they  look  like  that ;  and  then  the 
storm  sometimes  subsides  of  itself. 

After  dinner,  E-osa  retired  early ;  and  soon  she  was 
heard  walking  rapidly  up  and  down  the  dressing-room. 

This  Avas  quite  unusual,  and  made  a  noise. 

Papa  Lusignan  thought  it  inconsiderate ;  and  after  a 
while,  remarking  gently  that  he  was  not  particularly 
fond  of  sound,  he  proposed  they  should  smoke  the  pipe 
of  peace  on  the  lawn. 

They  did  so ;  but  after  a  while,  finding  that  Falcon 
w^as  not  smoking,  he  said,  "Don't  let  me  detain  you. 
Rosa  is  alone." 

Falcon  took  the  hint,  and  went  to  the  drawing-room. 
Rosa  met  him  on  the  stairs,  with  a  scarf  over  her  shoul- 
ders. "  I  must  speak  to  papa,"  said  she.  "  Where  is 
he?" 

"  He  is  on  the  lawn,  dear  Rosa,"  said  Falcon,  in  his 
most  dulcet  tones.  He  was  sure  of  his  ally,  and  very 
glad  to  use  him  as  a  buffer  to  receive  the  first  shock. 

So  he  went  into  the  drawing-room,  where  all  the  lights 
were  burning,  and  quietly  took  up  a  book.  But  he  did 
not  read  a  line ;  he  was  too  occupied  in  trying  to  read 
his  own  future. 

The  mean  villain,  who  is  incapable  of  remorse,  is,  of  all 
men,  most  capable  of  fear.  His  villany  had,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, reached  the  goal;  for  he  felt  sure  that  all 
Rosa's  struggles  would,  sooner  or  later,  succumb  to  her 


A  SIMPLETON.  429 

sense  of  gratitude  and  liis  strong  will  and  patient  tem- 
per. But  when  the  vietory  was  won,  what  a  lif(; !  He 
must  fly  with  her  to  some  foreign  eountry,  pursu(^d  from 
pillar  to  post  by  an  enraged  husband,  and  by  the  offended 
la^.  And  if  he  escaped  the  vindictive  foe  a  year  or  two, 
how  could  he  escape  that  other  enemy  he  knew,  and 
dreaded  —  poverty  ?  He  foresaw  he  should  come  to 
hate  the  woman  he  was  about  to  wrong,  and  she  would 
instantly  revenge  herself,  by  making  him  an  exile  and, 
soon  or  late,  a  prisoner,  or  a  pauper. 

While  these  misgivings  battled  with  his  base  but 
ardent  passion,  strange  things  were  going  on  out  of 
doors  —  but  they  will  be  best  related  in  another  sequence 
of  events,  to  which  indeed  they  fairly  belong. 


430  A  SIMPLETON. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

Staines  and  Mrs.  Falcon  landed  at  Plymouth,  and 
went  up  to  town  by  tlie  same  train.  They  parted  in 
London,  Staines  to  go  down  to  Gravesend,  Mrs.  Falcon 
to  visit  her  husband's  old  haunts,  and  see  if  she  could 
find  him. 

She  did  not  find  him;  but  she  heard  of  him,  and 
learned  that  he  always  went  down  to  Gravesend  from 
Saturday  till  Monday. 

Notwithstanding  all  she  had  said  to  Staines,  the  actual 
information  startled  her,  and  gave  her  a  turn.  She  was 
obliged  to  sit  down,  for  her  knees  seemed  to  give  Avay. 
It  was  but  a  momentary  weakness.  She  was  now  a  wife 
and  a  mother,  and  had  her  rights.  She  said  to  herself, 
"My  rogue  has  turned  that  poor  woman's  head  long 
before  this,  no  doubt.  But  I  shall  go  down  and  just 
bring  him  away  by  the  ear." 

For  once  her  bitter  indignation  overpowered  every 
other  sentiment,  and  she  lost  no  time,  but  late  as  it  was 
went  down  to  Gravesend,  ordered  a  jorivate  sitting-room 
and  bedroom  for  the  night,  and  took  a  fly  to  Kent  Villa. 

But  Christopher  Staines  had  the  start  of  her.  He  had 
already  gone  down  to  Gravesend  with  his  carpet-bag, 
left  it  at  the  inn,  and  walked  to  Kent  Villa  that  lovely 
summer  night,  the  happiest  husband  in  England. 

His  heart  had  never  for  one  instant  been  disturbed  by 
Mrs.  Falcon's  monstrous  suspicion ;  he  looked  on  her  as 
a  monomaniac ;  a  sensible  woman  insane  on  one  point, 
her  husband. 

When  he  reached  the  villa,  however,  he  thought   it 


A   SIMrLETON.  431 

prudent  to  make  sure  that  Falcon  had  come  to  Eng- 
land at  all,  and  discharged  his  commission.  He  would 
not  run  the  risk,  small  as  he  thought  it,  of  pouncing  un- 
expected on  his  Rosa,  being  taken  for  a  ghost,  and  terri- 
fying her,  or  exciting  her  to  madness. 

Now  the  premises  of  Kent  Villa  were  admirably 
adapted  to  what  they  call  in  war  a  reconnoissance.  The 
lawn  was  studded  Avitli  laurestinas  and  other  shrubs  that 
had  grown  magnificently  in  that  Kentish  air. 

Staines  had  no  sooner  set  his  foot  on  the  lawn,  than 
he  heard  voices ;  he  crept  towards  them  from  bush  to 
bush;  and  standing  in  impenetrable  shade,  he  saw  in 
the  clear  moonlight  two  figures — Mr.  Lusignan  and 
Reginald  Falcon. 

These  two  dropped  out  only  a  word  or  two  at  inter- 
vals ;  but  what  they  did  say  struck  Staines  as  odd.  For 
one  thing,  Lusignan  remarked,  "  I  suppose  you  will  want 
to  go  back  to  the  Cape.  Such  enormous  estates  as  yours 
will  want  looking  after." 

"  Enormous  estates  !  "  said  Staines  to  himself.  "  Then 
they  must  have  grown  very  fast  in  a  few  months." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Falcon ;  "  but  I  think  of  showing  her 
a  little  of  Europe  first." 

Staines  thought  this  still  more  mysterious ;  he  waited 
to  hear  more,  but  the  succeeding  remarks  were  of  an 
ordinary  kind. 

He  noticed,  however,  that  Falcon  spoke  of  his  wife 
by  her  Christian  name,  and  that  neither  party  mentioned 
Christopher  Staines.  He  seemed  quite  out  of  their  little 
world. 

He  began  to  feel  a  strange  chill  creep  down  him. 

Presently  Falcon  went  off  to  join  Rosa;  and  Staines 
thought  it  was  quite  time  to  ask  the  old  gentleman 
whether  Falcon  had  executed  his  commission,  or  not. 

He  was  only  hesitating  how  to  do  it,  not  liking  to 


432  A   SIMPLETON. 

pounce  in  the  dark  on  a  man  who  abhorred  everything 
like  excitement,  when  Rosa  herself  came  flying  out  in 
great  agitation. 

Oh !  the  thrill  he  felt  at  the  sight  of  her !  With  all 
his  self-possession,  he  would  have  sprung  forward  and 
taken  her  in  his  arms  with  a  mighty  cry  of  love,  if  she 
had  not  immediately  spoken  words  that  rooted  him  to 
the  spot  with  horror.  But  she  came  with  the  words  in 
her  very  mouth ;  "  Papa,  I  am  come  to  tell  you  I  cannot, 
and  will  not,  marry  Mr.  Falcon.'' 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  will,  my  dear." 

"  Never !  I'll  die  sooner.  Not  that  you  will  care  for 
that.  I  tell  you  I  saw  my  Christopher  last  night  —  in  a 
dream.  He  had  a  beard ;  but  I  saw  him,  oh,  so  plain ; 
and  he  said,  '  Is  this  the  way  you  keep  your  promise  ? ' 
That  is  enough  for  me.  I  have  prayed,  again  and  again, 
to  his  star,  for  light.  I  am  so  perplexed  and  harassed 
by  you  all,  and  you  make  me  believe  what  you  like. 
Well,  I  have  had  a  revelation.  It  is  not  my  poor  lost 
darling's  wish  I  should  wed  again.  I  don't  believe  jMr. 
Ealcon  any  more.  I  hear  nothing  but  lies  by  day.  Tlie 
truth  comes  to  my  bedside  at  night.  I  will  not  marry 
this  man." 

"  Consider,  Eosa,  your  credit  is  pledged.  You  must 
not  be  always  jilting  him  heartlessly.  Dreams !  non- 
sense. There  —  I  love  peace.  It  is  no  use  your  storm- 
ing at  me ;  rave  to  the  moon  and  the  stars,  if  you  like, 
and  when  you  have  done,  do  pray  come  in,  and  behave 
like  a  rational  woman,  who  has  pledged  her  faith  to  an 
honorable  man,  and  a  man  of  vast  estates  —  a  man  that 
nursed  your  husband  in  his  last  illness,  found  your  child, 
at  a  great  expense,  when  you  had  lost  him,  and  merits 
eternal  gratitude,  not  eternal  jilting.  I  have  no  patience 
with  you." 

The  old  gentleman  retired  in  high  dudgeon. 


A   SIMPLETON.  433 

Staines  stood  in  the  black  sliade  of  his  cedar-tree, 
rooted  to  the  ground  by  this  revelation  of  male  villany 
and  female  credulity. 

He  did  not  know  what  on  earth  to  do.  He  wanted  to 
kill  Falcon,  but  not  to  terrify  his  own  wife  to  death.  It 
was  now  too  clear  she  thought  he  was  dead. 

Rosa  watched  her  father's  retiring  figure  out  of  sight. 
^'  Very  well,"  said  she,  clenching  her  teeth ;  then  sud- 
denly she  turned,  and  looked  up  to  heaven.  "Do  you 
hear  ?  "  said  she,  "  my  Christie's  star  ?  I  am  a  poor  per- 
plexed creature.  I  asked  you  for  a  sign,  and  that  very 
night  I  saw  him  in  a  dream.  Why  should  I  marry  out 
of  gratitude  ?  Why  should  I  marry  one  man,  when  I 
love  another  ?  Wliat  does  it  matter  his  being  dead  ? 
I  love  him  too  well  to  be  wife  to  any  living  man.  They 
persuade  me,  they  coax  me,  they  pull  me,  they  push  me. 
I  see  they  will  make  me.  But  I  will  outwit  them.  See 
—  see  ! "  and  she  held  up  a  little  phial  in  the  moonlight. 
"  This  shall  cut  the  knot  for  me ;  this  shall  keep  me  true 
to  my  Christie,  and  save  me  from  breaking  promises  I 
ought  never  to  have  made.  This  shall  unite  me  once 
more  with  him  I  killed,  and  loved." 

She  meant  she  would  kill  herself  the  night  before  the 
wedding,  which  perhaps  she  would  not,  and  perhaps  she 
would.  Who  can  tell  ?  The  weak  are  violent.  But  Chris- 
topher, seeing  the  poison  so  near  her  lips,  was  perplexed, 
took  two  strides,  wrenched  it  out  of  her  hand,  with  a  snarl 
of  rage,  and  instantly  plunged  into  the  shade  again. 

Rosa  uttered  a  shriek,  and  flew  into  the  house. 

The  farther  she  got,  the  more  terrified  she  became,  and 
soon  Christopher  heard  her  screaming  in  the  drawing- 
room  in  an  alarming  way.  They  were  like  the  screams 
of  the  insane. 

He  got  terribly  •  anxious,  and  followed  her.     All  the 
doors  were  open. 
28 


434  A  SBIPLETON.* 

As  lie  went  up-stairs,  he  heard  her  cry,  "  His  ghost ! 
his  ghost !  I  have  seen  his  ghost !  No,  no.  I  feel  his 
hand  upon  my  arm  now.  A  beard !  and  so  he  had  in  the 
dream !  He  is  alive.  My  darling  is  alive.  You  have 
deceived  me.  You  are  an  impostor  —  a  villain.  Out  of 
the  house  this  moment,  or  he  shall  kill  you." 

"  Are  you  mad  ? "  cried  Falcon.  "  How  can  he  be 
alive,  when  I  saw  him  dead  ?  " 

This  was  too  much.  Staines  gave  the  door  a  blow 
with  his  arm,  and' strode  into  the  apartment,  looking 
white  and  tremendous. 

Falcon  saw  death  in  his  face ;  gave  a  shriek,  drew  his 
revolver,  and  fired  at  him  with  as  little  aim  as  he  had  at 
the  lioness;  then  made  for  the  open  window.  Staines 
seized  a  chair,  followed  him,  and  hurled  it  at  him ;  and 
the  chair  and  the  man  went  through  the  window  together, 
and  then  there  was  a  strange  thud  heard  outside. 

Eosa  gave  a  loud  scream,  and  swooned  away. 

Staines  laid  his  wife  flat  on  the  floor,  got  the  women 
about  her,  and  at  last  she  began  to  give  the  usual  signs 
of  returning  life. 

Staines  said  to  the  oldest  woman  there,  "  If  she  sees 
me,  she  will  go  off  again.  Carry  her  to  her  room ;  and 
tell  her,  by  degrees,  that  I  am  alive." 

All  this  time  Papa  Lusignan  had  sat  trembling  and 
whimpering  in  a  chair,  moaning,  "This  is  a  painful 
scene  —  very  painful."  But  at  last  an  idea  struck  him 
—  "Why,  you  have  robbed  the  office!" 

Scarcely  was  Mrs.  Staines  out  of  the  room,  when  a  fly 
drove  up,  and  this  was  immediately  followed  by  violent 
and  continuous  screaming  close  under  the  window. 

"  Oh,  dear ! "  sighed  Papa  Lusignan. 

They  ran  down,  and  found  Falcon  impaled  at  full 
length  on  the  spikes  of  the  villa,  and  Phoebe  screaming 
over  him,  and  trying  in  vain  to  lift  him  off  them.     He 


A   SIMPLETON.  435 

liad  struggled  a  little,  in  silent  terror,  but  had  then 
fainted  from  fear  and  loss  of  blood,  and  lying  rather 
inside  the  rails,  which  were  high,  he  could  not  be  extri- 
cated from  the  outside. 

As  soon  as  his  miserable  condition  was  discovered,  the 
servants  ran  down  into  the  kitchen,  and  so  up  to  the 
rails  by  the  area  steps.  These  rails  had  caught  him ; 
one  had  gone  clean  through  his  arm,  the  other  had  pene- 
trated the  fleshy  part  of  the  thigh,  and  a  third  pierced 
his  ear. 

They  got  him  off ;  but  he  was  insensible,  and  the  place 
drenched  with  his  blood. 

Phoebe  clutched  Staines  by  the  arm.  "  Let  me  know 
the  worst,"  said  she.     "  Is  he  dead  ?  " 

Staines  examined  him,  and  said  "  No." 

"  Can  you  save  him  ?  " 

"  I  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Who  can,  if  you  cannot  ?  Oh,  have  mercy  on 
me  ! "  and  she  went  on  her  knees  to  him,  and  put  her 
forehead  on  his  knees. 

He  was  touched  by  her  simple  faith;  and  the  noble 
traditions  of  his  profession  sided  with  his  gratitude  to 
tliis  injured  woman.  "My  poor  friend,"  said  he,  "I  will 
do  my  best,  for  i/our  sake." 

He  took  immediate  steps  for  stanching  the  blood ;  and 
the  fly  carried  Phoebe  and  her  villain  to  the  inn  at 
Gravesend. 

Falcon  came  to  on  the  road ;  but  finding  himself  alone 
with  Phoebe,  shammed  unconsciousness  of  everything 
but  pain. 

Staines,  being  thoroughly  enraged  with  Rosa,  yet 
remembering  his  solemn  vow  never  to  abuse  her  again, 
saw  her  father,  and  told  him  to  tell  her  he  should  think 
over  her  conduct  quietly,  not  wishing  to  be  harder  upon 
her  than  she  deserved. 


436  A   SIMPLETON. 

Eosa,  who  had  been  screaming,  and  crying  for  joy, 
ever  since  she  came  to  her  senses,  was  not  so  much 
afflicted  at  this  message  as  one  might  have  expected. 
He  was  alive,  and  all  things  else  were  trifles. 

Nevertheless,  when  day  after  day  went  by,  and  not 
even  a  line  from  Christopher,  she  began  to  fear  he  Avould 
cast  her  off  entirely ;  the  more  so  as  she  heard  he  was 
now  and  then  at  Gravesend  to  visit  Mrs.  Falcon  at  the 
inn. 

While  matters  were  thus.  Uncle  Philip  burst  on  her 
like  a  bomb.  "  He  is  alive !  he  is  alive  !  he  is  alive  !  '^ 
And  they  had  a  cuddle  over  it. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Philip  !     Have  you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  Seen  him  ?  Yes.  He  caught  me  on  the  hop,  just  as 
I  came  in  from  Italy.     I  took  him  for  a  ghost." 

"  Oh,  weren't  you  frightened  ?  " 

"Not  a  bit.  I  don't  mind  ghosts.  I'd  have  half  a 
dozen  to  dinner  every  day,  if  I  might  choose  'em.  I 
couldn't  stand  stupid  ones.  But  I  say,  his  temper  isn't 
improved  by  all  this  dying :  he  is  in  an  awful  rage  with 
you  ;  and  what  for  ?  " 

"  0  uncle !  what  for  ?  Because  I'm  the  vilest  of 
women ! " 

"Vilest  of  fiddlesticks!  It's  his  fault,  not  yours. 
Shouldn't  have  died.  It's  always  a  dangerous  experi- 
ment." 

"/shall  die  if  he  will  not  forgive  me.  He  keeps  away 
from  me  and  from  his  child." 

"I'll  tell  you.  He  heard,  in  Gravesend,  your  banns 
had  been  cried:  that  has  moved  the  peevish  fellow's 
bile." 

"  It  was  done  without  my  consent.  Papa  will  tell  you 
so  ;  and,  O  uncle,  if  you  knew  the  arts,  the  forged  letter 
in  my  darling's  hand,  the  way  he  wrought  on  me  !  0 
villain !  villain  !     Uncle,  forgive  your  poor  silly  niece, 


A  SIMPLETON.  437 

tliat  the  world  is  too  wicked  and  too  clever  for  her  to 
live  in." 

"Because  you  are  too  good  and  innocent,"  said  Uncle 
Philip.  "  There,  don't  you  be  down-hearted.  I'll  soon 
bring  you  two  together  again  —  a  couple  of  ninnies. 
I'll  tell  you  what  is  the  first  thing  :  you  must  come  and 
live  with  me.  Come  at  once,  bag  and  baggage.  He 
won't  show  here,  the  sulky  brute." 

Philip  Staines  had  a  large  house  in  Cavendish  Square, 
a  crusty  old  patient,  like  himself,  had  left  him.  It  was 
his  humor  to  live  in  a  corner  of  this  mansion,  though 
the  whole  was  capitally  furnished  by  his  judicious  pur- 
chases at  auctions. 

He  gave  Rosa  and  her  boy  and  his  nurse  the  entire 
first  floor,  and  told  her  she  was  there  for  life.  "  Look 
here,"  said  he,  "this  last  affair  has  opened  my  eyes. 
Such  women  as  you  are  the  sweeteners  of  existence. 
You  leave  my  roof  no  more.  Your  husband  will  make 
the  same  discovery.  Let  him  run  about,  and  be  miserable 
a  bit.     He  will  have  to  come  to  book." 

She  shook  her  head  sadly. 

"  My  Christopher  will  never  say  a  harsh  word  to  me. 
All  the  worse  for  me.  He  will  quietly  abandon  a 
creature  so  inferior  to  him." 

"Stuff!" 

Now,  she  was  always  running  to  the  window,  in  hope 
that  Christopher  would  call  on  his  uncle,  and  that  she 
might  see  him  ;  and  one  day  she  gave  a  scream  so  elo- 
quent, Philip  knew  what  it  meant.  "  Get  you  behind 
that  screen,  you  and  your  boy,"  said  he,  "  and  be  as  still 
as  mice.  Stop  !  give  me  that  letter  the  scoundrel  forged, 
and  the  ring." 

This  was  hardly  done,  and  Rosa  out  of  sight,  and 
tremV)ling  from  head  to  foot,  when  Christopher  was 
announced.  Philip  received  him  very  affectionately, 
but  wasted  no  time. 


438  A   SIMPLETON. 

"  Been  to  Kent  Villa  yet  ?  " 

"  No/'  was  the  grim  reply. 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  I  have  sworn  never  to  say  an  angry  word  to 
her  again ;  and,  if  I  was  to  go  there,  I  should  say  a  good 
many  angry  ones.  Oh,  when  I  think  that  her  folly  drove 
me  to  sea,  to  do  my  best  for  her,  and  that  I  was  nearer 
death  for  that  woman  than  ever  man  was,  and  lost  my 
reason  for  her,  and  went  through  toil  and  privations, 
hunger,  exile,  mainly  for  her,  and  then  to  find  the  banns 
cried  in  open  church,  with  that  scoundrel !  —  say  no  more, 
uncle.  I  shall  never  reproach  her,  and  never  forgive 
her." 

•'  She  was  deceived." 

"  I  don't  doubt  that ;  but  nobody  has  a  right  to  be  so 
great  a  fool  as  all  that." 

"  It  was  not  her  folly,  but  her  innocence,  that  was 
imposed  on.  You  a  philosopher,  and  not  know  that 
wisdom  itself  is  sometimes  imposed  on,  and  deceived  by 
cunning  folly  !     Have  you  forgotten  your  Milton  ?  — 

*' '  At  Wisdom's  gate,  Suspicion  sleeps, 
And  deems  no  ill  where  no  ill  seems.' 

Come,  come  !  are  are  sure  you  are  not  a  little  to  blame  ? 
Did  you  Avrite  home  the  moment  you  found  you  were 
not  dead  ?  " 

Christopher  colored  high. 

"Evidently  not,"  said  the  keen  old  man.  "Ah,  my 
fine  fellow  !  have  I  found  the  flaw  in  your  own  armor  ?  " 

"  I  did  wrong,  but  it  was  for  her.  I  sinned  for  her. 
I  could  not  bear  her  to  be  without  money,  and  I  knew 
the  insurance  —  I  sinned  for  her.  She  has  sinned  against 
me." 

"  And  she  had  much  better  have  sinned  against  God, 
hadn't   she  ?     He   is   more   forgiving  than   we   perfect 


A   SIMPLETON.  439 

creatures  that  cheat  insurance  companies.  And  so,  my 
fine  fellow,  you  hid  the  truth  from  her  for  two  or  three 
months." 

Ko  answer. 

"  Strike  off  those  two  or  three  months ;  would  the 
banns  have  ever  been  cried  ?  " 

"  Well,  uncle,"  said  Christopher,  hard  pressed,  "  I  am 
glad  she  has  got  a  champion ;  and  I  hope  you  will  always 
keep  3^our  eye  on  her." 

"  I  mean  to." 

"  Good-morning." 

"  No ;  don't  be  in  a  hurry.  I  have  something  else  to 
say,  not  so  provoking.  Do  you  know  the  arts  by  which 
she  was  made  to  believe  you  wished  her  to  marry  again  ?  " 

"  I  wished  her  to  marry  again  !    Are  you  mad,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Whose  handwriting  is  on  this  envelope  ?  " 

"Mine,  to  be  sure." 

"Now,  read  the  letter." 

Christopher  read  the  forged  letter. 

"  Oh,  monstrous  !  " 

"  This  was  given  her  with  your  ruby  ring,  and  a  tale 
so  artful  that  nothing  we  read  about  the  devil  comes 
near  it.  This  was  what  did  it.  The  Earl  of  Tadcaster 
brought  her  title,  and  wealth,  and  love." 

"  What,  he  too  !  The  little  cub  I  saved,  and  lost  my- 
self for  —  blank  him  !  blank  him  ! " 

"  Why,  you  stupid  ninny  !  you  forget  you  were  dead ; 
and  he  could  not  help  loving  her.  How  could  he  ? 
Well,  but  you  see  she  refused  him.  And  why  ?  because 
he  game  without  a  forged  letter  from  you.  Do  you  doubt 
her  love  for  you  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do.    She  never  loved  me  as  I  loved  her." 

"Christopher,  don't  you  say  that  before  me,  or  you 
and  I  shall  quarrel.  Poor  girl !  she  lay,  in  my  sight,  as 
near  death  for  you  as  you  were  for  her.  I'll  show  you 
something." 


440  A  SIMPLETON". 

He  went  to  a  cabinet,  and  took  out  a  silver  paper ;  lie 
unpinned  it,  and  laid  Rosa's  beautiful  black  hair  upon 
lier  husband's  knees.  "  Look  at  that,  you  hard-hearted 
brute  ! "  he  roared  to  Christopher,  who  sat,  anything  but 
hard-hearted,  his  eyes  filling  fast,  at  the  sad  proof  of 
his  wife's  love  and  suffering. 

Eosa  could  bear  no  more.  She  came  out  with  her  boy 
in  her  hand.  "  0  uncle,  do  not  speak  harshly  to  him,  or 
.you  will  kill  me  quite  ! " 

She  came  across  the  room,  a  picture  of  timidity  and 
penitence,  with  her  whole  eloquent  body  bent  forward 
at  an  angle.  She  kneeled  at  his  knees,  with  streaming 
eyes,  and  held  her  boy  up  to  him  :  "  Plead  for  your  poor 
mother,  my  darling.  She  mourns  her  fault,  and  will 
never  excuse  it." 

The  cause  was  soon  decided.  All  Philip's  logic  was 
nothing,  compared  with  mighty  nature.  Christopher 
gave  one  great  sob,  and  took  his  darling  to  his  heart, 
without  one  word ;  and  he  and  Rosa  clung  together,  and 
cried  over  each  other.  Philip  slix^ped  out  of  the  room, 
and  left  the  restored  ones  together. 

I  have  something  more  to  say  about  my  hero  and 
heroine,  but  must  first  deal  with  other  characters,  not 
wholly  uninteresting  to  the  reader,  I  hope. 

Dr.  Staines  directed  Phoebe  Falcon  how  to  treat  her 
husband.  No  medicine,  no  stimulants ;  very  wholesome 
food,  in  moderation,  and  the  temperature  of  the  body 
regulated  by  tepid  water.  Under  these  instructions,  the 
injured  but  still  devoted  wife  was  the  real  healer.  .He 
pulled  through,  but  was  lame  for  life,  and  ridiculously 
lame,  for  he  went  with  a  spring  halt,  —  a  sort  of  hoj)-and- 
go-one  that  made  the  girls  laugh,  and  vexed  Adonis. 

Phoebe  found  the  diamonds,,  and  offered  them  all  to 
Staines,  in  expiation  of  his  villany.  "  See,"  she  said, 
"  he  has  only  spent  one." 


A   SIMrLETON.  441 

Staines  said  lie  was  glad  of  it,  for  her  sake,  for  he 
must  be  just  to  his  own  family.  He  sold  them  for  three 
thousand  two  hundred  pounds  ;  but  for  the  big  diamond 
he  got  twelve  thousand  pounds,  and  I  believe  it  was 
worth  double  the  money. 

Counting  the  two  sums,  and  deducting  six  hundred 
for  the  stone  IMr.  Falcon  had  embezzled,  he  gave  her  over 
seven  thousand  pounds. 

She  stared  at  him,  and  changed  color  at  so  large  a  sum. 
"  But  I  have  no  claim  on  that,  sir." 

"  That  is  a  good  joke,"  said  he.  "Why,  you  and  I  are 
partners  in  the  whole  thing  —  you  and  I  and  Dick.  Was 
it  not  with  his  horse  and  rifle  I  bought  the  big  diamond  ? 
Poor  dear,  honest,  manly  Dick  !  No,  the  money  is 
honestly  yours,  Mrs.  Falcon ;  but  don't  trust  a  penny  to 
your  husband." 

"  He  will  never  see  it,  sir.  I  shall  take  him  back,  and 
give  him  all  his  heart  can  ask  for,  with  this ;  but  he  will 
be  little  more  than  a  servant  in  the  house  now,  as  long 
as  Dick  is  single  ;  I  know  that ;  "  and#  she  could  still  cry 
at  the  humiliation  of  her  villain. 

Staines  made  her  promise  to  write  to  him  ;  and  she 
did  write  him  a  sweet,  womanly  letter,  to  say  that  they 
were  making  an  enormous  fortune,  and  hoped  to  end 
their  days  in  England.  Dick  sent  his  kind  love  and 
thanks. 

I  will  add,  what  she  only  said  by  implication,  that  she 
was  happy  after  all.  She  still  contrived  to  love  the 
thing  she  could  not  respect.  Once,  when  an  officious 
friend  pitied  her  for  her  husband's  lameness,  she  said, 
"Find  me  a  face  like  his.  The  lamer  the  better;  he 
can't  run  after  the  girls,  like  some." 

Dr.  Staines  called  on  Lady  Cicely  Treherne ;  the  foot- 
man stared.     He  left  his  card. 

A  week  afterwards,  she  called  on  him.     She  had  a 


442  A  SIMPLETON. 

pink  tinge  in  her  cheeks,  a  general  animation,  and  her 
face  full  of  brightness  and  archness. 

"  Bless  me  ! "  said  he  bluntly,  "  is  this  you  ?  How 
you  are  improved ! " 

"  Yes,"  said  she ;  "  and  I  am  come  to  thank  you  for 
your  pwescwiption :  I  followed  it  to  the  lettaa." 

"  Woe  is  me  !     I  have  forgotten  it.'' 

"  You  diwected  me  to  mawwy  a  nice  man.'' 

"  Never  :  I  hate  a  nice  man." 

"  No,  no  —  an  Iwishman :  and  T  have  done  it." 

"  Good  gracious !  you  don't  mean  that !  I  must  be 
more  cautious  in  my  prescriptions.  After  all,  it  seems 
to  agree." 

"  Admiwably." 

"  He  loves  you  ?  '' 

"To  distwaction." 

"  He  amuses  you  ?  " 

"  Fwodigiously.     Come  and  see." 

Dr.  and  Mrs.  Staines  live  with  Uncle  Philip.  The 
insurance  money  is  returned,  but  the  diamond  money 
makes  them  very  easy.  Staines  follows  his  profession 
now  under  great  advantages  :  a  noble  house,  rent  free ; 
the  curiosity  that  attaches  to  a  man  who  has  been  canted 
out  of  a  ship  in  mid-ocean,  and  lives  to  tell  it ;  and  then 
Lord  Tadcaster,  married  into  another  noble  house,  swears 
by  him,  and  talks  of  him  ;  so  does  Lady  Cicely  Munster, 
late  Treherne ;  and  when  such  friends  as  these  are  warm, 
it  makes  a  physician  the  centre  of  an  important  clien- 
tele; but  his  best  friend  of  all  is  his  unflagging  indus- 
try, and  his  truly  wonderful  diagnosis,  which  resembles 
divination.  He  has  the  ball  at  his  feet,  and  above  all, 
that  without  which  worldly  success  soon  palls,  a  happy 
home,  a  fireside  warm  with  sympathy. 

Mrs.  Staines  is  an  admiring,  sympathizing  wife,  and 


A   SIMPLETON.  443 

an  admirable  housekeeper.  She  still  utters  inadverten- 
cies now  and  then,  commits  new  errors  at  odd  times,  but 
never  repeats  tliem  when  exposed.  Observing  wliich 
docility,  Uncle  Philip  has  been  heard  to  exjoress  a  fear 
that,  in  twenty  years,  she  will  be  the  wisest  woman  in 
England.  "  But,  thank  heaven !  "  he  adds,  "  I  shall  be 
gone  before  that." 

Her  conduct  and  conversation  afford  this  cynic  con- 
stant food  for  observation  ;  and  he  has  delivered  himself 
oracularly  at  various  stages  of  the  study  :  but  I  cannot 
say  that  his  observations,  taken  as  a  whole,  present  that 
consistency  which  entitles  them  to  be  regarded  as  a  body 
of  philosophy.  Examples :  In  the  second  month  after 
Mrs.  Staines  came  to  live  with  him,  he  delivered  himself 
thus  :  "  My  niece  Kosa  is  an  anomaly.  She  gives  you 
the  impression  she  is  shallow.  Mind  your  eye  :  in  one 
moment  she  will  take  you  out  of  your  depth  or  any 
man's  depth.  She  is  like  those  country  streams  I  used 
to  fish  for  pike  when  I  was  young ;  you  go  along,  seeing 
the  bottom  everywhere  ;  but  presently  you  come  to  a 
corner,  and  it  is  fifteen  deep  all  in  a  moment,  and  souse 
you  go  over  head  and  ears :  that's  my  niece  Eosa." 

In  six  months  he  had  got  to  this  —  and,  mind  you, 
each  successive  dogma  was  delivered  in  a  loud,  aggressive 
tone,  and  in  sublime  oblivion  of  the  preceding  oracle  — 
"  My  niece  Kosa  is  the  most  artful  woman.  (You  may 
haw !  haw !  haw !  as  much  as  you  like.  You  have  not 
found  out  her  little  game  —  I  have.)  AYliat  is  the  aim 
of  all  women  ?  To  be  beloved  by  an  unconscionable 
number  of  people.  Well,  she  sets  up  for  a  simpleton, 
and  so  disarms  all  the  brilliant  people,  and  they  love 
her.  Everybody  loves  her.  Just  you  put  her  down  in 
a  room  with  six  clever  women,  and  you  will  see  who  is 
the  favorite.  She  looks  as  shallow  as  a  pond,  and  she 
is  as  deep  as  the  ocean." 


444  A   SIMPLETON. 

At  tlie  end  of  the  year  lie  threw  off  the  mask  alto- 
gether. "  The  great  sweetener  of  a  man's  life,"  said  he, 
''  is  '  a  simpleton.'  I  shall  not  go  abroad  any  more ;  my 
house  has  become  attractive :  I've  got  a  simpleton. 
When  I  have  a  headache,  her  eyes  fill  with  tender  con- 
cern, and  she  hovers  about  me  and  pesters  me  with 
pillows  :  when  I  am  cross  with  her,  she  is  afraid  I  am 
ill.  When  I  die,  and  leave  her  a  lot  of  money,  she  will 
howl  for  months,  and  say  I  don't  want  his  money :  '  I 
waw-waw-waw-waw-want  my  Uncle  Philip,  to  love  me, 
and  scold  me.'  One  day  she  told  me,  with  a  sigh,  I 
hadn't  lectured  her  for  a  month.  '  I  am  afraid  I  have 
offended  you,'  says  she,  '  or  else  worn  you  out,  dear.' 
When  I  am  well,  give  me  a  simpleton,  to  make  me  laugh. 
When  I  am  ill,  give  me  a  simpleton  to  soothe  me  with 
her  innocent  tenderness.  A  simpleton  shall  wipe  the 
dews  of  death,  and  close  my  eyes :  and  when  I  cross 
the  river  of  death,  let  me  be  met  by  a  band  of  the 
heavenly  host,  who  were  all  simpletons  here  on  earth, 
and  too  good  for  such  a  hole,  so  now  they  are  in  heaven, 
and  their  garments  always  white  —  because  there  are  no 
laundresses  there." 

Arrived  at  this  point,  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  will  retire, 
grinning,  to  fresh  pastures,  and  leave  this  champion  of 
"  a  Simpleton,"  to  thunder  paradoxes  in  a  desert. 


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